


wish i could eat the salt off of your lost faded lips

by fleuravis



Series: with nothing on my tongue but hallelujah [7]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Airplane Sex, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Beach Sex, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Comeplay, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Emotional Infidelity, Exhibitionism, Friendship, Gentle Sex, Graves is mean, I'm so sorry for this, Indie Music, Jealousy, Kinda, M/M, Making Love, Multi, Newt and Tina are cute and I love them, Non-Consensual Touching, Possessive Behavior, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Spanking, True Love, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Vacation, Violence, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-08-24 13:38:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16641192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleuravis/pseuds/fleuravis
Summary: Credence wonders if they’ll all sit together, but he doesn’t want to ask any more questions. He stares out the window at the planes rolling down the runway as they pull into the parking garage. His hand floats up to trace the line around his neck where his collar should be. Percy had firmly told him no.We’ll be on the beach all week, he’d said. It’s not exactly subtle.Credence and Percy fly to England for Tina and Newt's wedding. A week in a remote beach house with their closest friends may be just what they need to figure themselves out — or it might change things for good.--updating mondays, wednesdays and fridays!





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BEASTS DAY!! i saw the film last night and... wow. i won't spoil anything, but DM me on tumblr if you want to scream about it because my head is still spinning.
> 
> anyway - welcome back!! this is going to be a trip and a half. that pun will make sense in so many ways when this fic is finished.
> 
> enjoy <3

As he packs, Credence thinks back to the time when everything he owned could have fit in this suitcase. Worn out clothes, a tattered copy of the Bible, his guitar. Not much else to his name. Now he struggles to get it closed, hopping up to sit on it, Percy laughing at him while he tugs fruitlessly at the zipper. Credence still has a hard time believing that he has so _much_ now, and sometimes he wonders how people manage to keep track of all their belongings. He has so many books from Percy, probably more than he’ll ever be able to read. He has a vast collection of clothing and shoes, ranging from thrift shop purchases to expensive designer items that Percy had custom-tailored for him. His beautiful guitar and amp. Far more pedals than he really needs. Sometimes his head spins when he tries to keep track of it all, a shiny-bright catalogue that makes him feel guilty in its abundance.

It was difficult to choose what to bring on this trip. He’s never been on a plane before; he had never even left the country before Macusa played a few shows in Canada. Percy took him to get his passport, stamped with a photo that makes him look like a frightened twelve year old, in preparation for that tour. Now, he clutches it in his hand along with his boarding pass, finally having zipped shut the small carry-on suitcase.

Percy's tried begging and bargaining to just let him pay for a checked bag, but Credence is stubborn. There’s no need for it — he went nineteen years owning enough to fit comfortably in this suitcase with room for souvenirs. Why should he need more than that for a week-long trip?

Eventually, Percy concedes. He’s stressed out. Credence is terrified. He tries not to ask too many questions; he doesn’t want to annoy Percy, but he can’t help it.

Are there seat-belts on the plane? _Yes, Credence._

Is there a bathroom on the plane? _Yes, Credence._

Should I eat a big dinner? It’s a long flight. _No, Credence. They have food on the plane. Besides, it’ll be night time. You can just sleep._

If the plane crashes— _No, Credence. The plane won’t crash._

He quiets down, finally, when they’re in the car on their way to the airport, and Percy has pushed his plug inside of him, slippery and heavy, keeping him pacified with its weight. Credence thinks he probably did it just to get him to shut up. When has to focus on sitting still and not letting it push against anything sensitive, it becomes too much effort to ask pestering questions.

They’re all flying together: Newt, Tina, Queenie, Jacob, Percy and him. Credence wonders if they’ll all sit together, but he doesn’t want to ask any more questions. He stares out the window at the planes rolling down the runway as they pull into the parking garage. His hand floats up to trace the line around his neck where his collar should be. Percy had firmly told him no. 

_We’ll be on the beach all week,_ he’d said. _It’s not exactly subtle._

Credence feels a little less grounded without it.

Going through the security line is terrifying, because they aren’t very nice when Credence almost forgets to take his shoes off. Nobody at the airport is very nice, in fact. He’s lucky that Percy does all the talking. 

They find their friends all waiting at the gate. They’re mostly in pyjamas, prepared for the overnight flight, which has Credence still trying to wrap his head around the idea that they’ll be leaving at ten o’clock at night and arriving at ten thirty in the morning when only seven hours have passed. He’s excited to see England, to live for a week in the place where Newt grew up; it’s just the getting there that makes him worry.

They’re in the first class cabin at Percy's insistence, seated in something that the airline recently dubbed the ‘Love Suite’. A flashy commercial had popped up on YouTube when they were checking their view count and Percy was delighted. So much so that he paid far more than necessary just to get on this airline in the first place. Really, it’s just two first class seats tucked together, it's kind of cute. Tina and Newt have their own, and so do Queenie and Jacob — they all roll their eyes at Percy, who booked all the tickets. He gives them a smug look. 

“You’ll thank me later when you don’t have to share three cubic feet with a crying baby or a guy who snores,” he tells them.

Credence barely even notices the takeoff aside from a heavy pressure in his ears. He winces a little and Percy nudges a stick of gum past his lips. “You gotta swallow. Then your ears won’t pop.”

“I can think of something else I’d rather swallow,” Credence tells him, keeping his eyes forward and holding back a smile. Percy elbows him.

“We’ve still got seven hours, puppy. Keep it together.”

Credence is tired, and before he knows it he’s drifting off, waking a few hours later to a darkened cabin. Percy is watching a movie on the screen in front of him, eyes half-open. Credence shifts in his seat, leaning into the man’s shoulder to join in watching the soundless movie. Percy kisses the top of his head and puts a hand on his knee, rubbing slowly. Credence sighs, melting into his touch, eyelids fluttering. Percy glances around the cabin at the sleeping people around them, hand sliding up, caressing the soft material of Credence’s sweatpants, his warm inner thigh. 

He squeezes and Credence squirms, hand coming out to grab his arm. “Percy,” he mouths, frowning. “Not here.”

Percy ducks his head in and kisses him silently, tongue briefly flicking out into his open mouth. “Come to the bathroom in thirty seconds. Knock three times.”

And then he gets up and walks away. Credence’s eyes dart around nervously. Is anyone else awake? Someone must be. He can see the glow of lit up TV screens, phones, a reading light turned on in one of the little booth seats. He counts to thirty in his head, as slowly as he can, before getting up on unsteady legs and walking through the aisle to the bathroom. He walks by Tina and Newt’s joined seat, where Newt is sleeping with his head on Tina’s shoulder and Tina's awake, reading a magazine. She gives him a look. She must have seen Percy go by.

He tries to be casual when he makes it to the bathroom, knocking three times. The door slides open and he’s yanked inside, Percy swiftly locking it behind him and then pressing him up against the cool metal, kissing him slow and deep, keeping his wrists in a tight hold.

“Couldn’t we get, y’know, in trouble?” Credence asks nervously, keeping his voice low. Percy grins lazily.

“What are they gonna do, throw us out the emergency exit? C’mon, puppy, it’s fine.”

He slips his hands under Credence’s shirt, toying with his nipples, making the boy mewl into his mouth. “ _Percy…_ ”

“You ever heard of the mile high club, baby?” Percy’s voice is breathless and gruff as he holds Credence against the door, feeling him up, touching him all over and eating up his gasps as Credence feeds them right into his mouth.

“No,” he whimpers. _Of course not._

“It’s when you fuck on a plane. I’ve never done it before.”

Credence’s breath hitches as Percy shoves a hand into his pants, wasting no time, frantic and rushed. He knows they probably don’t have much time to do this, considering they’re on one of four bathrooms at most on this airplane. He feels a sudden rush of understanding when the plug shifts inside of him. Percy kisses his forehead and then flips him around, making him brace his hands on the door. Credence feels his pants being tugged down to his knees and then there’s a rush, a slip, as Percy pulls out the plug. He shudders at the sudden emptiness, the vacancy of his body. He feels open and so, so exposed.

Percy pushes into him all at once and he bites at his wrist to stay silent, only a muffled groan escaping him. Two hands gripping his hips, hard enough to bruise, a thick and heavy weight rutting up into him over and over again. Credence’s head spins with the violence of it, the desperation, the animalistic fervor. His dick is hard and he squirms to try and keep it from rubbing up against the door.

Percy reaches around and takes him in hand, tugging on him hard and fast as he angles himself to thrust right against his prostate. With no warning, Credence comes hard, gasping in embarrassment and shame and pleasure as Percy continues to pull on his dick, milking him for all he’s worth, Credence trying not to think about the slowly dripping splatter of cum that he’s left on the door.

Percy grabs his hips and pulls him back hard, bottoming out, biting down on Credence’s shoulder as he spends himself inside of him. The hot rush Credence feels makes his head float. He moans softly, forgetting to muffle himself, forgetting where he is. They stay there for a moment, breathing hard. And then he feels a hand near his entrance as Percy pulls out slowly and then, making Credence startle, shoving the plug back up into his ass. He keens softly into his hand at the feeling of being filled once more, Percy’s cum still slippery inside him, held in by the plug. Every shift of his body makes him tremble, oversensitive and tender.

“Percy, can’t—” he mumbles, but Percy is moving him aside gently, ignoring his protests, wetting some toilet paper and wiping down the door. Cleaning up his mess. Credence flushes.

And then Percy is whispering _wait thirty seconds before you come out_ and disappearing silently out the door. Credence leans against the wall, breath coming shallow through his mouth, wincing at every movement that sends sparks up his spine, the plug nudging at his insides, Percy’s cum filling him. He feels warm and wet and open. He pulls up his pants and washes his hands. Checks his phone. They still have four hours.

He counts quietly under his breath and then steels himself, walking back out into the aisle. Luckily most everyone is asleep and nobody pays him any mind. He slips back into the seat and hisses softly at the feeling of sitting down, pressure on the plug, his insides practically _sloshing._ Percy looks smug. Credence glares at him.

“I’m gonna stain the seat,” he murmurs, low enough that it barely registers under the hum of the plane.

“It won’t come out,” Percy says, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen in front of him, where an episode of _Criminal Minds_ is playing without sound. “That’s the point.” He lets a hand fall on Credence’s thigh, squeezing gently. Credence sighs and leans his head on Percy’s shoulder, trying to focus his tired eyes on the subtitles.

He drifts off into sleep again and suddenly he’s waking up to what feels like the plane jumping over hurdles in a track race. He startles, eyes wide, looking at Percy in terror. “What’s going on? Are we crashing? Are—”

“Shh,” Percy scolds. “Relax, puppy. It’s just a little turbulence. We’re almost there.”

Credence clings to his arm like it’s the only thing keeping him on the plane. Percy soothes him, murmuring to him quietly as the pilot calls out over the intercom that they’ll be descending shortly. The turbulence barely lasts ten minutes and soon enough they’re descending over the airport, Credence blowing out slow breaths, staying parked in his seat until Percy forces him to stand up.

“We’re not in the air anymore, baby,” he laughs, “We’re on the ground. No more moving. C’mon.”

At that, Credence stands up, nearly crying out at the harsh feeling of the plug pushing insistently at his insides. He’d nearly forgotten its presence. Nearly.

Percy smirks and grabs his arm to steady him. “You okay?”

Credence’s gaze darts around the aisles at all the passengers unloading their bins. He takes an experimental step, eyes nearly rolling back at the feeling.

“It’s all wet,” he whimpers, pressing his lips against Percy’s chest to quiet his voice. “I’m all wet inside.”

Percy groans softly at that. He waits until everyone behind Credence has left, and then Credence feels one big hand reaching around behind him, pressing into the small of his back. He looks up, questioning. Then Percy’s hand slips behind his ass and _taps_ at the base of the plug. Credence jerks, the motion sending a jolt from where the plug rests all the way up to his chest, his dick twitching.

“ _Percy_ ,” he gasps. He looks around, helpless. No one is paying attention as they file out of the plane. Tina, Newt, Queenie and Jacob seem to already be gone. Percy keeps tapping with one finger, careful and precise, sending shockwaves through Credence’s body. He shudders.

A flight attendant suddenly comes through the doors and Percy pulls away smoothly, swiftly. Leaves Credence trembling, staring at the floor, trying to steady his breath. His dick still continuing to harden in his pants. He wills it down, biting his lip hard. Percy nudges the handle of his suitcase against his palm. Credence takes it, tugging his shirt down as best he can. _Why did he wear these sweatpants?_ The thin material doesn’t hide much of anything.

Percy ushers him toward the exit and down the tiny steps. They walk through the tunnel, Percy quick on his feet, Credence struggling to keep up while not disturbing the plug too much. It’s not an easy feat: with every movement it shifts, sending a twitch through his body.

The rest of the group are waiting for them at the gate.

“Took you long enough,” Tina says, casting a suspicious look at Percy. Credence smirks, looking at the floor. All of her _looks_ are always given to Percy and not to him; he kind of likes always being the innocent in all of it.

Percy ignores her implication. “God, I’m fuckin’ starving. Can we get something to eat before we go get the car?”

And so they find the nearest restaurant in the Arrivals terminal, squeezing into a darkened booth and ordering far more than they can probably stomach; it's still only five a.m. to their American bodies. Credence, pressed between Percy and the wall, leans against the man’s shoulder and closes his eyes. Percy’s hand on his thigh is simultaneously comforting and proprietary, every press of his thumb making Credence squirm against the plug. Percy inside of him, outside of him, surrounding him. If anybody notices, they don't show it, but Credence is starting to get a sick and paranoid feeling that he's making everybody uncomfortable. He firmly pushes Percy's hand off of his leg as the food arrives and doesn't meet the man's eyes, digging into the french fries that don't do much but make him queasy.

"So we're renting one car," Tina says, mouth full of at least two onion rings. She points at Percy. " _One._ One car."

"Oh, come on," he groans. "I'll pay for it. It doesn't matter."

"We can all fit in one. A nice big van. Soccer mom style."

Queenie grins, politely swallowing her food before she speaks. Tina rolls her eyes. "Teenie, are you going to be a soccer mom?"

"Oh, fuck that."

"Hey, what if our kids want to play soccer?" Newt nudges her with a little smile.

"Kids? Is there something you want to tell us?" Jacob joins in eagerly.

"No," Tina says forcefully. "Not... no."

The table falls into awkward silence. Newt keeps his eyes fixed on the plate in front of him.

"So," Percy says, trying to change the subject. "When do your parents come in?"

"Not 'til Friday night. Theseus is coming at some point before then but I'm not sure which day yet. He's, uh. He's bringing someone."

Credence catches the distaste in Newt's expression. It's not often that Newt openly dislikes somebody. Percy pointedly doesn't respond and it makes Credence's insides twist a little. He goes back to his food, leaning into Percy's side. He could fall asleep right here and now, he's so tired. But there's something unsettling his mind, something rattling him to the very core with uncertainty. He can't shake the feeling that something is going to go very, very wrong.

But Credence tends toward paranoia and fear and disproportionate anxiety. He's learned to stop listening to his overactive fight-or-flight instincts, that shrill little voice in the back of his head that constantly screams  _danger._ So he pushes it back, trying to tune back in to the conversation around him. All the while, slow panic drips through him like a sinister IV, his hand trembling where Percy grips it tighter and tighter under the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's it gonna be like when cre and percy are thrown together with two very normal and well-functioning couples for a week straight? only time will tell...
> 
> also, the love suite is a REAL THING. [check it out.](http://fortune.com/2018/02/02/virgin-atlantic-flights-love-suite/) i read about it and then couldn't help thinking that's exactly the kind of ridiculous thing percy would indulge in.
> 
> thanks everyone who's sticking with me throughout this story - it's going to get intense but in the end it will all be worth it <3
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://cannibalteacups.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

The Scamanders’ beach house is nestled into a windy grove in a remote part of Sussex, far enough from any other houses that it feels like total isolation. They’re planning for a beach wedding, right along the shoreline, and if the weather holds out then the spot couldn’t be more ideal. Newt’s parents will be arriving on Friday night, but from now until then they’ve got the place to themselves. The place brings him right back to summers years spent here with Newt and Tina and Theseus, sometimes calling every phone number they could find and filling the place with drunk bodies, spilling out onto the beach under a star-speckled sky. He and Theseus sneaking off to make out under cover of beach grass and alder trees. The group of them used to stay out in the shallows until the sun was rising, saving each other from drunk-drowning more times than they'd care to admit. Now they're here once more and Tina and Newt are getting fucking married. 

They’re all jet-lagged and exhausted by the time they arrive, piled too-tight into the rental car that makes the three hour drive from the airport to the coast. Bumping elbows and shifting around their carry-ons. Graves is still grumbling about the One Car Situation by the time Newt pulls the car up into the driveway. It's warm but overcast, not too bright on their weary eyes. Nobody slept much on the plane. They lounge around the lofty house, read books on the beach, and eat a haphazard dinner that Queenie throws together with everything she can find in the cupboards.

“I’ll have to go shopping tomorrow,” Newt says apologetically. “They don’t stay here often anymore.”

He’s been oddly distant since their arrival, perpetually lost in thought. Every time somebody speaks to him, he startles as though he’s somewhere very far away. Graves would think he might be more excited to see his parents. They’ve always been close, even since they moved back to London with Theseus and Newt opted to stay in New York. If there’s any tension, Graves is unaware of it. But then again, getting wind of any kind of conflict from Newt is a medal-worthy feat.

At dinner, Credence is quiet too, and squirmy; he doesn't look up from his plate of pasta and he barely speaks. Graves watches him, a little concerned, but figures he’s likely just jet-lagged like the rest of them, nervous about being in this foreign place. Everyone is being fucking weird. It's like he stepped into some kind of alternate reality.

They go to bed early, Graves and Credence getting the bedroom at the end of the hall with a wide window looking out over the sea. The room is muggy, though they put the ceiling fan on its highest setting. It does its best to cut through the thick, warm summer air. Graves starts to think about European tours, and hell, why not go worldwide? There would certainly be a demand for it. Maybe this fall, even, though it'll be rainy season in London. Maybe he’ll take the rental car and drive Credence out to the city sometime this week. They have a few days before the wedding.

As he shuts the bedroom door behind them, Credence shifts uncomfortably in place, looking at him expectantly.

“What is it, baby?” Graves frowns. 

“Can you…” Credence inhales sharply, clenching his jaw. “Can you take it out now?”

Oh. _Oh._

“Oh, puppy, I’m so sorry,” he breathes. “I forgot.”

Credence looks horrified. “You _forgot_?”

Graves winces. “There was a lot going on! You should have said something.”

“I was trying to be good,” Credence says, and his voice is so small that it breaks Graves’ heart. Not enough to stop the insidious thoughts sneaking into his brain, though, because he's not a good man, he never has been. Credence, walking around all day with this held inside of him, Graves' own mark, trying to be good, not complaining once. Trying so hard to stay calm, to not let on that anything's wrong. How sensitive he must be, how open and tender…

Graves will take it out, of course he will, but why not have some fun first?

He undresses Credence and lays him down on the bed, massaging his belly slowly, experimentally — his pressing hand growing more and more firm and insistent. Credence whines, twisting with discomfort as Graves feels around, rubbing near his hips, searching for the most sensitive spots.

After a few moments he relinquishes his boy, flipping him over so he lays prostrate in the sheets, guiding his hands up to grip the headboard. The pillow he nudges under Credence’s face.

“Bite this. Stay quiet.”

“What—” Credence sounds terrified but Graves shushes him, pushing his face into the pillow until he bites. And then he spreads the boy’s legs, tugging them apart until he can see the jewelled end of the plug sticking out like a perverse embellishment, ringed with his reddened rim, stretched for so long. He rubs Credence’s ass slowly, feeling almost guilty. Almost.

He knows the boy can take it; he always can.

“Safe word?” He murmurs, squeezing a generous handful of Credence’s ass. Credence makes a muffled sound and then releases the pillow from between his lips.

“Orchid,” he chokes out, and bites down again.

“Good boy,” Graves praises. “Stay still for me, puppy.”

With two fingers he starts tapping the plug, just the way he had on the plane, only now Credence is naked and vulnerable and spread out like a sacrifice before him. He moans quietly against the pillow, his body tensing.

Graves taps a few more times and then pulls back and spanks him, hard, dead center on the lewdly sparkling plug. Credence screams into the pillow and Graves grabs the back of his head with his other hand, forcing his face firmer into the cotton, silencing him.

“Shh,” he scolds. “We’re in a house full of people. You want them to hear you?”

He can hear Credence’s desperate, whimpering little sounds. He gives him a moment to breathe and then smacks the plug again, driving it into Credence’s ass, a blow to his prostate, a shifting of his insides. Credence’s entire body jerks.

“Good boy.”

Again, and again, and Credence is crying into the pillow, making strangled and muted sounds, trying to squirm out of Graves’ grasp, writhing on the bed. His cock hard and dragging on the sheets, smearing precum everywhere. His arms shake, his hands nearly losing their grip on the headboard.

Finally Graves takes pity on him and gently urges his hands to loosen, enfolding him in his arms and holding him close, pressing soothing kisses to his tear-stained face.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Credence just whines in response, breath stuttering. “Please — please take it out, Percy?”

“Okay,” Graves whispers, “okay.”

He carries Credence’s small and trembling form into the bathroom, helping him step into the shower. He undresses and steps in with him but doesn’t turn the water on. He wants Credence to feel it, to see it, every drop. His  body is pliant and limp, and Graves easily turns him around and has him brace his arms on the wall. With one hand he spreads Credence’s ass, urging him to widen his stance before he dips his other down and slips the plug out smoothly.

Credence lets out a choked sob as Graves’s cum begins to leak out of him — so much of it, and held for so long.

“You’re so good, baby,” Graves marvels, watching the steady stream as it runs down Credence’s shaky thighs. “Such a good boy. My good boy.”

As the stream depletes, Graves wickedly dips two fingers into the boy’s ass and he keens, lips pressed to his wrist. Graves prods his abused and swollen prostate, Credence pleading all the while, begging him to stop. He pulls out and turns the boy around, kissing him slow and deep, reaching with one hand to turn the shower on.

They stay in the water until their fingertips are wrinkled and the water runs cool. Graves gets Credence off gently with his hand, the boy squirming nervously every time he goes anywhere near his gaping ass. It’ll take a while for him to be ready to be fucked again, Graves knows that, but some things are worth the wait.

 

\--

 

In the morning, Graves wakes to the smell of breakfast and the sound of hushed voices from down the hall. He rolls over onto Credence, squeezing him until he grumbles and bats him away.

“Per- _cy_ ,” Credence whines, and Graves just laughs, pressing wet kisses to the side of his face.

“Up, up, up,” he mumbles. “C’mon.”

He helps a loose-limbed Credence get dressed, further displacing his already sleep-mussed hair when he pulls one of his own giant crewneck sweatshirts over the boy’s head, throwing on a haphazard outfit of his own as they head out to the kitchen. He smirks at the sight of Credence’s face twisting as he walks in a half-limp, wincing with every step.

"Knock it off," he says quietly, nudging him in the side. "They're gonna think I fuckin' annihilated you."

"You did," Credence mutters, but straightens up, one hand darting over to slip his fingers into Graves' own, almost secretive, like he's tricking him into holding hands. Graves smiles to himself and tickles his fingertips. They've just made it to the living room when Graves stops at the sight of Theseus, jacket still on, hair still swept aside from the wind. He falters momentarily . “Oh, hey. Didn’t know you were coming today.”

Theseus grins. The way his smile lifts his blue eyes, causing them to catch whatever light is in the air and shine like lakewater, used to make Graves weak; now it just makes him long for the unfathomable darkness of Credence's eyes, the profound obscurity, the seemingly endless well of black. 

“Good morning to you too, Percy. This is Viktor.”

Graves’ eyes travel over to the man by Theseus’ side. His jaw is... intimidating. Cut sharp like Credence's but twice as thick, jutting out where it's clenched rather defiantly. He stares at Graves head on with a smile that begins and ends at the corners of his lips.

“Hi, Viktor.” Graves extends his hand. After a split second of hesitation, Viktor shakes it. “I’m Percy Graves.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Viktor tells him, and doesn’t elaborate any further than that. _Well. Okay, then._

“Eggs and bacon!” Queenie chimes in from the kitchen. “And scones!”

Graves tugs at Credence’s hand, still held loosely in his own, the boy trailing behind him into the dining room. They sit side by side at the table while Queenie and Jacob bustle around, serving plates and kissing every time they bump into each other. Credence watches them, chin rested on his hand, a somewhat longing expression on his face. Graves squeezes his skinny thigh, making him startle.

Later in the evening they break out several bottles of whiskey and tequila.

“This is like our rehearsal drunk night," Tina says, holding up a shot glass filled to the very brim. “In preparation for our wedding drunk night.”

It doesn’t take long before they’re all sufficiently wasted, lounging in the living room half-playing a game of charades, collapsing into laughter at Newt trying to mimic an animal’s mating dance.

“I give up,” he cries out, stumbling back into the chair he’s sharing with Tina, wrapping his arms around her. “My wife, my wife.”

“Not yet,” she says, coy and grinning, kissing his chin and then his cheek. 

“So soon, though,” he murmurs, and Graves feels a tug in his heart at the way he stares at her. He glances over at Credence, next to him on the couch, to find him also watching them with the same yearning expression he'd worn earlier.

_One day,_ Graves thinks, trying to tell Credence telepathically. _I will marry you, if it’s the last thing I do in this world._

Viktor is on Credence’s other side, Theseus sitting at his feet. The man has barely said a word all night and Graves has no intention of trusting him. He keeps looking at Credence, Graves knows that much, and he doesn’t like it.

“Credence, you go!” Queenie chimes, and Credence stumbles off the couch, a drunk and wobbly smile overtaking his face.

“Okay, okay.” He pulls a slip of paper from the shoebox on the coffee table and stares at it, frowning. “Oh no. Okay.”

He tucks the slip into his pocket and stands in the centre of the room, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. Then he starts to do a very awkward movement, motioning to the sky, waving his arms around.

“Airplane!” Jacob calls out. “Bird!”

Credence shakes his head, frustrated, as everyone continues to shout out various flying animals and devices. He drops to his knees, looking up.

“Blowjob?” Tina cries out. “Percy!”

Credence flushes bright red, shaking his head fervently, glancing at Graves, who just laughs at him. He pulls his hands together in front of him. 

“Praying?” Graves offers. “Church?”

Credence nods, gesturing wildly for him to continue.

“Credence, did you get _God_?” Theseus erupts into laughter and Viktor cracks a wide smile for the first time this evening. Graves’ mirth vanishes immediately at the sight. They’re laughing at him. They think it’s fucking hilarious that Credence was raised in a church, as if _raised in a church_ is an accurate enough description of his childhood. As if his traumatic entrapment within religion is a passing joke in the mouths of these men who know nothing about him. Graves has the sudden urge to lose it, out loud, but Credence is giggling.

“Yes,” he breathes. “ _Finally._ ”

He gets up off his knees too quickly, stumbling forward, falling onto the couch. Half-into Viktor’s lap.

Graves should think nothing of it. Nobody else even looks up; nobody pays attention. It’s a series of inconsequential movements. Credence is clumsy, he falls into Viktor’s lap, Viktor grabs him by the hips to steady him. Moves him gently onto the cushion beside him.

To Graves, it is the end of the fucking world. And maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s his heightened agitation, but before he knows it he's on his feet. 

“Bedroom,” he mutters to Credence, and then he stalks off down the hall without another word. The rest of the group is too drunk to pay him any notice, busy laughing at Jacob's attempt at impersonating Queenie's stage presence. Graves feels his way through the dark hall and a few moments later Credence follows him into the bedroom.

“What is it?”

He’s pink-faced from the alcohol, eyes glassy. He sways a little in place. Graves doesn’t say a word, just grabs him by the wrist and pulls him roughly to the bed, throwing him down and straddling him, keeping his wrists pinned at the sides of his head.

“What, Percy?” He says breathlessly, looking up at him, already twisting his hips a little. There's a ghost of a smile on his face, the one he always wears when he's half-drunk and horny and ready to be tossed around. He really has no fucking clue.

“You don’t let him touch you,” Percy tells him, voice low and threatening. “I don’t even want him to _look_ at you.”

“Who?” Credence asks, confused, before realization dawns on his face. “Oh, what, _Viktor_?”

“Yes,” Graves says, squeezing his wrists hard. A warning. “Yes, Viktor. I see how he’s looking at you.”

“Well what am I supposed to do?” Credence whines. “It’s not like I want him to—”

“You stay away from him, that’s what you do.” 

“I’m not about to start something just because you—”

In a half a second Graves has him flipped over, face first on the bed, bringing his hand down hard against the boy’s ass. Credence yelps at the contact, trying to get away, trying to fight Graves off. Graves hits him again and he _knows_ Credence feels it deep inside, still not even halfway healed from last night, still aching and stinging to the very core.

It’s cruel, and the boy takes it so beautifully.

“Percy,” he whimpers. "Why do you have to do this?"

“You can safeword.”

It’s more of a test, really. He knows Credence won’t. And he doesn’t, just shudders and turns his head, cheek pressed to the pillow. Says a soft  _please don't do this to me_ but doesn't say the word, doesn't call him off.

“That’s my boy.”

He yanks Credence up and onto his feet. He stumbles drunkenly in the centre of the room, looking at Graves with sad appeal. Graves grabs him by the shoulder, lips to his ear.

“Go back out there with your ass still red from my hand and your dick still hard and know that they _know_. That you’re mine, and you always will be, and everyone will always fucking know that.”

Credence shudders and tries to turn his head and kiss him but Graves pulls back, leaving the room without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um, percy is... not very nice :(
> 
> at some point maybe he'll get his head out of his own ass and realize what he's doing to credence. until then, this next week may not be the great fun time everyone was hoping for


	3. Chapter 3

Credence sneaks out of bed early in the morning, when the sun is just barely beginning to rise over the whisper-still water. He’s well practiced in the art of moving silently through a room — old habits lingering from years of sneaking into the kitchen to eat after Ma went to sleep, so hungry his throat ached; from moving through the house like a ghost, never given the luxury of presence. Never forgiven for disturbing the air around him. Percy stays soundly asleep as Credence dresses himself in his softest, warmest clothes. It’s cool, especially out in the open shoreline air.

The sky is starting to turn pink by the time he slips out the door, closing it slowly so it barely makes a _click_ behind him. He walks barefoot down the path to the empty beach, avoiding shells and stones with each step, and then sees that it isn’t so empty after all. There’s somebody sitting in the sand, close to the shore; a small dark spot from a distance in Credence’s not-so-great vision. 

As he approaches, he can see the cropped dark hair, a familiar blue sweater.

“Tina?” He says tentatively, not wanting to startle her. 

She turns her head whip-fast and then fixes him with a smile. “Oh, Credence. Good morning.”

“You’re up early,” he comments as he sits down beside her, looking out at where the sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon.

“So are you.” Her eyes are a little red, her cheeks flushed pink, the familiar glow Credence knows too well. She sniffs quietly. “I know, I’m not hiding it well. I’ve been crying.”

Credence isn’t very good at comforting people. He’s usually the one being comforted. He scoots a little closer. “How come?”

She shrugs, and then laughs thickly. “I’m getting married. It’s weird.”

“You love Newt.”

“I do.” She looks at him. “So much. Would you marry Graves?”

Credence looks out at the sea. “Yeah. I don’t know if he would marry me, though.” He grins. “I don’t think I’m husband material. I feel like I’m destined to forever be a needy little boyfriend.”

“Don’t say that,” Tina scoffs. “He’d be lucky to marry you. Anyone would. And besides.” She nudges him, leaning her head on his shoulder. “He’s never cared about anyone like this. It’s insane. We seriously thought Graves’d be alone forever cause he’s such an asshole.”

There’s a slow flutter of wind and Credence wraps his arms more tightly around himself, shivering. “Are you sad?”

“A little.”

“Why?”

“God, Credence, I don’t know. I wish I knew.”

“The wedding’s gonna be beautiful. You and Newt are the best couple I know. Well, Queenie and Jacob are great too. But I love you guys.”

Tina starts sniffling again and Credence turns to her in alarm as she starts crying. “I — I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… did I — did I say —”

“No, Credence.” She shakes her head. “You didn’t say anything wrong. Thank you. I’m just emotional. It’s a big day and I just feel weird right now. You’re so good, you know that?”

“Oh,” Credence says quietly. “Thank you. I hope I’m not making it worse.”

Tina smiles at him, eyes shiny-wet. “I’m glad you came out here, Credence.”

They watch the sun rise for a while, casting the beach in golden light, waves rolling slowly to the shore.

“Do you feel safe here?” Tina asks after a while.

Credence looks at her, surprised. “Of course I do.”

“Don’t just say that,” she says, and her voice has a quiet urgency. “Please. I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Credence frowns, running one hand through the soft sand, feeling her eyes on his face. “I’m okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Last night…”

Credence shakes his head. “Percy was just upset. We had to talk privately about it because we didn’t want to bother anyone. He just didn’t want Viktor touching me, that’s all.”

Tina sighs. “You know, earlier this year I went to a party with Newt. There were a couple of people we knew back from high school there, but a lot of people we didn't know. This guy was… kind of on me all night. Following me around, trying to talk to me, trying to give me drinks. Newt stayed by my side all night but he didn’t really say anything, and I was a little pissed. Then at one point the guy grabbed my arm and tried to kiss me. Before I could even realize what was happening, Newt was in front of me instead. He pushed the guy away, gently, of course, because it’s Newt. And then he—” She laughs, shaking her head, doing her best imitation of Newt’s accent. “And then he said, _I’m sorry, sir, but I do believe she’s with me._ Smiling the whole time, of course.”

Credence giggles, picturing Newt’s quiet voice telling this guy off so politely. “I wish I could have seen that.”

Tina nods in agreement. “It was pretty great. Anyway…” She chews on her lip, tapping one hand against her knee as if she’s trying to decide how to begin. “Jealousy is understandable. Even being a little possessive. If Viktor was trying to touch you, Perce has every right to say something to him about it. But not… not to take you into another room and punish you for it.”

She looks at him expectantly, like she’s waiting for confirmation. He tries to keep his face expressionless.

“It’s okay, Tina. I’m okay.”

She leans into him again, reaching for his hand, covering it her with her soft and chilly palm. “I want you to come to me no matter what, okay? You promise? If you ever need anything. Anything at all. Newt and I are here for you.”

He nods. “Thank you.”

She huffs out a breath. “It’s cold as hell out here. You wanna go inside?”

The sun has risen, and the world is bright and cast in yellow as they make their way back up to the house. It’s still barely seven; nobody else is awake. Likely everyone is still hungover. The two of them make a huge breakfast together, managing to only break a few eggs and one plate, Credence yelping and apologizing when he drops a pan full of sausages, and Tina laughing, mouth full of banana. And then Tina sends Credence to wake everybody up. He does, tentatively knocking on doors, whispering _breakfast time_ , until Tina barges down the hallway, banging on the walls with tight little fists.

“Come on, everyone, get your asses up!”

Credence scurries into the bedroom where Percy is sleeping, crawling back into bed and right on top of his slowly-waking form.

“I made breakfast,” he whispers, kissing across Percy’s jaw. “Extra bacon for you, daddy.”

“Mmph, so _early,_ ” Percy mumbles, but he grabs Credence by the hips and urges him down to straddle his body, lips parting and searching for him. Credence kisses him slow and soft, grinding down a little on the obvious bulge in Percy’s briefs. 

“C’mon, it’s gonna get cold. I’m proud of it.”

Percy laughs and tosses him aside with one arm. Credence bounces once on the mattress and then scrambles to his feet, reaching into his pants and tucking himself away where he’s starting to stiffen. He goes back into the kitchen where the others are beginning to emerge, sleepy-eyed and yawning, several cases of bedhead pushed back with weary hands.

They’ve cooked up quite an impressive display: eggs, fried and scrambled; bacon and sausages; tofu for Queenie, who’s vegetarian; fried potatoes and vegetables; tall stacks of pancakes smothered in maple syrup; bowls of chopped up fruit.

“Jesus, how long have you two been up?” Percy asks in disbelief, taking his plate (scrambled, bacon, two pancakes and some strawberries; Credence made it up special for him) and slipping into a chair at the table.

Queenie squeals with delight when Credence presents her with her plate. He’d made the tofu himself, not wanting her to feel left out.

“Oh, you absolute _darling_ ,” she gushes. “How sweet is this!”

After breakfast, he sits out on the porch with his book and a glass of orange juice. Newt comes out after a while and invites him to go grocery shopping.

“Just a few more things for the wedding!” He says cheerfully.

Credence goes, feeling a bit like he’s being passed off between each responsible adult in this place, sheltered from whatever danger they think he’s in. He knows he’s being paranoid.

It’s a long drive. Newt talks the whole way about his childhood, growing up in London and coming here several times a year. How he and Theseus mapped out the whole forest in a beat up little sketchbook. _I never got rid of it_ _,_ he says fondly, _must be deep in a box, somewhere._

How about you? Newt asks him, and it’s not a question he’s used to. _How about you, Credence? Any fond childhood memories to share? Oh, well, how about when my tyrannical mother locked me in the cellar for three days…_

He shrugs. “We never went on vacation. We always just stayed in the church.”

“Ah.” Newt changes the subject, pointing out his favourite spots in the nearby town as the county fields start to turn into small buildings. _A population of barely a thousand, hardly a town, really_ , Newt tells him, _but we just need a couple things_.

The grocery store is not much more than a few aisles in a building the size of the beach house living room. A beady-eyed old woman guards the counter, staring them down as they browse.

“Peppers, eggs, flour…” Newt mutters, scanning the shelves, “…did she say cumin or coriander?”

Credence isn’t sure if he’s supposed to answer, so he stays quiet.

On the drive home, Newt is quieter. He's got a CD playing, and Credence stares out the window, enjoying the low acoustic music, the constant horizon of fields and trees and farmhouses. After half an hour of silence, Newt speaks up.

“Everything alright with you and Percy, then?” He’s still got on his cheerful tone, even when approaching a touchy subject.

“Yeah,” Credence says softly, “It’s good.” He has a nagging feeling that Tina put him up to this. _Why don't you take Credence shopping with you, and while you’re at it you can interrogate him even further about his relationship?_

“You know, if there’s ever something that upsets you, and you want to talk about—”

“I don’t,” Credence says, and it comes out more sharply than he’d intended. Newt looks a little taken aback.

“Ah. Okay, then. I’m sorry to pry.”

Credence bites down hard on his lip and stares at his hands. If everyone is so worried about him and Percy, they should have just left them back in New York. This is supposed to be about Tina and Newt’s wedding, not about his relationship problems.

The sick little feeling in the pit of his stomach hasn’t gone away over the past couple of days. It’s only grown more turbulent, in fact, twisting in his guts and making him feel queasy. He can’t put words to it, can’t name his anxieties or express what he’s worried about. He feels like a stupid little kid, acting out and making everyone pity him because he’s too dumb to figure out what’s wrong with him. He just wants everybody to stop looking at him the way they do: constant flighty glances, questioning and prying, like they’re just waiting for him to break down and cry.

Well, he won’t. He’s an adult now, really, and he should start acting like one.

He murmurs one-worded responses to the rest of Newt’s chatter, and that’s all he needs, really — he can go on and on about his memories of exploring the forests here as a child, all the little creatures he’d find hiding in the trees and beneath rocks on the beach. Credence’s phone keeps buzzing with texts from Percy but he ignores it, tucking it into the pocket of his jeans and curling his arms around himself, staring out the window with burning eyes.

Newt glances over one more time and his voice falters, but all he does is put a warm hand on Credence’s shoulder and turn back to the road.

 

——

 

After night falls, when Credence is reading on the living room sofa, Percy comes up behind him and kisses the back of his neck. “Let’s go to the beach.”

Credence puts his book down, padding over to the door in his bare feet. Percy follows, carrying a big blanket in his arms, shutting the door behind them. They stay quiet as they make their way down the path.

The waves are louder tonight, a low roar across the shoreline, and Percy spreads the blanket out a safe distance away from where the water licks at the sand. Credence lies down, feeling floppy and very soft in his too-big sweatshirt. He gazes up at the stars, so much brighter than in New York.

“It’s so beautiful without all the light pollution,” Percy says as though he’s reading Credence’s thoughts, cozying up beside him on the blanket. “I love New York, but it’s never dark enough to really appreciate the stars.”

“Do you know any constellations?”

Percy hums. He stares up for a moment and then points. “Big Dipper, aaaaand… Little Dipper, right there. I think the North Star is on the end of one of those.”

“There,” Credence says softly, pointing to the brightest one.

“That could be a planet.”

“No,” Credence insists. And then he starts pointing around the sky, rattling off the list. “Cassiopeia, Cepheus, Hercules, Scorpius, Sagittarius—”

“Hey!” Percy turns on his side and stares at him, shocked but grinning. “Where’d you learn all that?”

Credence smiles shyly. “The one time we ever left New York when I was a kid was for a church retreat in Virginia. I saw the sky one night and it was so big and bright and full of stars. I loved it. So when we got back I went to the library and found a book and learned all of them.”

“You never cease to amaze me,” Percy murmurs, rolling over on top of Credence and pressing a soft kiss to his parted lips, thumbing over his hairline. Credence hums into his mouth and squirms a little beneath him. Percy hasn’t fucked him since the plane ride, hasn’t really touched him since the night they got here. He’s already weak for it.

“Didn’t you say something about sex on the beach?” Percy teases, rolling his hips onto Credence’s, and again more insistently when he hears his responding gasp.

“Something like that,” Credence mumbles, lifting his hips up higher, hands grasping at the back of Percy’s shirt. He pulls it off and tosses it aside, returning his lips to Credence’s with a newfound fervor, and then they’re pressed so tightly together, panting and kissing and licking at each other’s mouths, rocking their bodies together like the very beginning. Credence starts to worry he might come in his pants just the same way.

“Percy,” he gasps. “Slow — slow down.” He grasps at the man’s waist, laughing breathlessly. Percy stills. “Sorry, I — God. Sorry. I’m gonna cum.”

Percy gives him a lopsided grin, dropping down onto the blanket on his side, head propped up on his hand. “I’m sure you’ve got a couple rounds in you.”

“I want to enjoy it,” Credence murmurs, tilting his head up to kiss him again. “I wanna cum with you, not like, five hundred times before you.”

“Fair,” Percy says, brushing Credence’s hair back. “If I suck you off, will it be too much?”

Credence winces. “I don’t want to turn that down, but…”

“Another time,” Percy promises. And then: “Shit. I didn’t bring any lube out.”

“I’m okay,” Credence insists, shifting so that he can get on top. “We’ll go slow.”

“Slow,” Percy agrees. He holds Credence’s hips steady as the boy moves on top of him like a sweet little wave, kissing his neck and nuzzling the tip of his nose beneath Percy’s ear, the place he knows will set him off. He can feel Percy’s growing hardness beneath his own, so long past eager. It makes his head spin. He straightens up, tugging his sweatshirt over his head so that he’s bare except for his briefs. He helps Percy get his pants off, and then they’re just two horny teenagers, making out in their underwear, Credence’s curly hair curtaining their faces while they kiss, the darkness of the beach concealing the unholy motion of their bodies.

When it becomes too much, Credence rolls off of him, laying on his back and breathing hard. His dick pulses in his underwear and for one awful moment he thinks he might just cum now, untouched, his own body betraying him. But then Percy reaches over swiftly and squeezes him around the base, staving off the feeling, although it fucking _hurts._ When his breathing has slowed, Percy carefully pulls off Credence’s underwear and then his own, and suddenly they’re two bodies on an endless beach, Percy golden and strong above him, himself pearly and practically glowing in the starlight, spread out on the blanket. Percy smiles down at him and he wants to cry.

“Make love to me,” he whispers, and then he blushes, because he sounds ridiculous. Percy doesn’t seem to think so, though, because he takes Credence in his arms with all the warmth and softness in the world, kissing and nipping at his neck, one hand reaching down between Credence’s legs to finger him open. He goes slow and gentle, making sure he’s stretched but avoiding the little spot inside him that’s bound to set Credence off. 

Percy pushes two fingers into Credence’s mouth, deeper and deeper until he gags, thick saliva coming up to coat the man’s hand. With a quiet _sorry, baby,_ he reaches down and slicks himself up with it, the head of his cock nudging against Credence’s opening. His breath hitches as Percy pushes inside, slowly but steadily filling him to the very core.

It burns, but in the most beautiful way. Percy moves in a steady rhythm, lips locked on Credence’s, their tongues stroking lazily together, Credence’s hands entangled in Percy’s hair and Percy’s braced on either side of the boy’s head. The night is quiet but for the slow crash of the waves and the muffled sounds they feed into each other’s mouths.

“Soon,” Percy murmurs, and it’s breathy and sweet and Credence swallows the word. 

And then —

“Now.”

Percy comes inside of him, and it’s like he was meant to be there, always meant to be there, and his thumb strokes the head of Credence’s cock and he comes at the same time, together, and they keep their eyes open and fixed on each other's and there’s no colour, no irises, just the reflection of the moon, and they keep moving, and they keep saying each other’s name like no other words exist — 

And the stars are everywhere. They never end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love tina and newt being in the position of realizing their friend is being shitty to his s/o and not being totally sure what to do. situations like that really mess with your concept of loyalty and morality, etc etc. i've been there and my friends have, too.
> 
> the new film inspired a new fic (more canon-compliant) but i probably won't post that one until this one is complete... we'll see! either way, the rest of this series is written and won't be abandoned!
> 
> thanks again for your sweet kudos and comments and tumblr messages, they mean the world <3 hope you enjoyed!


	4. Chapter 4

Graves hasn’t been for a run in years, but he goes out early on Thursday morning, jogging along the shoreline as the sun rises higher in the sky. He needs to clear his head, to _think_ for once, because he feels like he’s going insane. He loves his friends, he really does, but he wishes he could just go back to his apartment, curl up on the couch with Credence and not have to share his space with anyone else. Credence has grown into an extension of himself; it doesn’t take effort to be around him. This takes effort.

So he runs for what feels like hours, as far down the beach as he can go until it cuts off and leads into woods. He turns and takes the path up to the road instead, a tiny beach town nestled next to the forest,barely even a town at all. More like a quiet neighbourhood of vacation homes and a couple little coffeeshops. 

It’s enough for him. He hopes he isn’t too sweaty, wiping his forehead with his shirt, heading into the nearest cafe. It’s nearly empty. Graves orders an iced coffee and sits by the window. There’s a woman one table over who glances up at him, lips turning up in a little smirk before she quickly goes back to her book. 

He stares at her without realizing he’s staring, lost in thought, and then there’s a voice speaking to him.

“—thought I recognized you.”

“Huh?” He startles, eyes focusing back on her face, which is now looking at him expectantly. “Shit, sorry. Zoned out.”

She laughs, a sweet, melodic sound. “It’s okay. I said I’m Fleur. I recognized you.”

She has a slight French accent and she’s very beautiful. Now that Graves has uncrossed his fucking eyes and stopped staring into space, he can see that — strikingly beautiful, actually. 

“You rec— oh, right. Yeah. Sometimes I forget I have a public presence.” He grins. “I’m Percival, but I guess… guess you know that already?”

“Oh, yes,” she says, eyes shining. “I've been such a fan. Would you like to sit with me?”

“Yeah, sure.” He transfers his coffee over to her table and sits across from her. The closer he gets, the prettier he can see that she is: silvery blonde hair that she throws back over her shoulder with a little flick of her head, wide blue eyes that she affixes to Graves’ own and doesn’t move away. It’s been a while since he’s been drawn to a woman this way; he figures he’s been sliding steadily up the Kinsey scale as he gets older.

“So, Percival Graves,” she says, eyes dancing as she leans over the table, propped up on pointy elbows. “What brings you here to the smallest town in England?”

“My best friends’ wedding,” he tells her. “What brings you here?”

“Ah, just enjoying the weather.” She gives him a playful smile. “There’s not much to do around here, is there? Are you bored?”

“I find things to fill the time.”

“Oh? What kind of things?”

“Depends on what I’m looking for.”

It feels like a game of sorts, shooting cryptic phrases back and forth, though Graves is playing from behind a veil. The ping-pong of flirting, exchanging clever lines until someone gives in and invites you to their place — he’s been through the motions before.

He feels guilty, of course, but he won’t touch her. He wouldn’t. It’s harmless, it’s entertainment, and Credence doesn’t have to know.

“And what is it you’re looking for, Percival Graves?”

His phone vibrates on the dark wooden table. _Credence._ Her eyes shoot down toward it.

“Your boy?”

“My boy,” he agrees softly, not moving to answer the call. Just watching the phone skitter slightly on the table.

“He’s very small,” she says. “Little.” _Lee-tle._ Her accent drawing out the sharp e. Graves frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“Young,” she clarifies. And then she smiles. “Too young to give you what you need, maybe.”

Graves sighs. “I should go.”

“Have I overstepped?”

“No, it’s okay. I just — I have to get back.”

She walks out with him, through the door and across the small fenced patio. There, at the sidewalk, she hugs him. “It was very nice to meet you. Can we take a picture?” She gives him a coy smile. “So I can show my friends that I met Percival Graves.”

He laughs. “Yeah, okay.”

She pulls him in close beside her, presses her cheek to his when he leans down to get in the frame. It’s a decent picture, though he does look a little sweaty from his run. He pulls back, a bit self-conscious.

“Thank you,” she says, batting her eyelashes almost cartoonishly. “I will see you around, maybe.”

“Maybe,” he says vaguely. “Have a good afternoon.”

He’s back on the beach in a matter of minutes, breaking back into a light jog. God, his lungs are already too fucking old for this. By the time he reaches their neck of the woods, he’s far past out of breath. Credence is laying on a towel in the sand, belly-down, in sunglasses and swim trunks with a book in his hand. There’s a bowl of half-eaten orange slices beside him. It’s very picturesque. He glances up when Graves slows to a stop, just a few feet away. 

“Look at you, bathing beauty.”

He can’t see Credence’s eyes behind his dark lenses, but he can nearly feel them rolling. “Where’d you go?”

“Just for a run."

“A _run_?” Credence sounds a little amused. Graves tosses his shirt aside and then gets down beside him, knocking the book from his hand, wrestling him over onto his back. Pinning his wrists down against the sandy towel.

“What’s so funny, mop head?”

“Hey,” Credence says defensively, “Queenie’s gonna cut it for the wedding.”

Graves ruffles his hair affectionately, pressing their sweaty chests together, leaning in to kiss Credence’s lips, sticky and sweet from the oranges. Credence mumbles something about it being daylight and how everybody in the house can see them and he still has sand in places sand should never be —

“Let’s get in the water, I’m sweaty as fuck.” Graves tugs on his hand but Credence doesn’t budge.

“You go ahead. I’m gonna read.”

“Come on, aren’t you hot?” Graves complains. “You’re sweaty too, little puppy. We haven’t gone swimming yet.”

“Percy, no.”

Graves pulls harder, yanking the boy up. "Just for a minute, c'mon, you—" 

“ _Percy_ ,” Credence says weakly. “I don’t know how to swim.”

“Oh.” Now he feels like a total asshole. Of course he doesn’t know how to swim. As if his vulture of a mother was signing him up for lessons at the YMCA. “Well, it’s okay, we can stay in the shallows. I’ll hold onto you.”

“Percy, I need you to know that I’ve never gone swimming in my life.”

Graves gapes at him. “Never? Like, not even in a kiddie pool?”

Credence wraps his arms around his bare chest protectively. “No. I didn’t exactly get invited to birthday parties.”

He looks so sad and so small. Graves puts a hand on his shoulder, so guilty that he’s certain Credence can feel it radiating from his body. “Well, all the more reason to go swimming now. I can teach you how to be a star fish.”

Credence blinks at him in consideration. “Okay, fine. But please don’t mess around with me, alright? I’m kind of terrified.”

“Pinky promise,” Graves vows. Credence gets up slowly, stretching out his long limbs, yawning as he tips his head back and takes off his sunglasses. The sun has turned his back only a darker shade of pale, but tiny freckles are starting to emerge across his shoulders. Graves reminds himself to kiss every single one of them later.

The water is cold and does wonders for Graves’ sore and sweaty legs. Credence hops back and forth on his feet like a cartoon character and Graves holds back his laughter. He keeps hold of Credence’s hand, guiding him deeper in until the water is licking at his navel. Graves wants to dive right in but he holds back, trailing wet fingertips across Credence’s chest. “Can you dunk to your shoulders?”

“Too c-cold.” Credence’s teeth chatter and this time Graves can’t hold back his laugh.

“Come on, baby, it can’t be much below 70. You don’t have to put your head in.”

Credence gives him a wary look but drops suddenly until just his head is floating above the water, the ends of his hair blooming out at the surface. Graves takes the opportunity to drop his head under, jolted awake instantly, breathing out bubbles and treading in place. When he comes up, Credence is just staring. Graves grins. “You want me to make you a starfish?”

“Do I have to put my head under?”

“Nope. Just let me lift you.”

He gets his hands under Credence’s back and tilts him until his feet, rather begrudgingly, leave the sandy ocean floor. He walks slowly out deeper until his own feet barely touch the bottom anymore. Credence makes a quiet, fearful sound but Graves holds him steady, lifting him until he’s flat on his back, his face poking out like a round little moon in the dark, hazy water. He takes shallow breaths in through his mouth, eyes fixed on Graves.

“How’s that feel?” Graves asks, holding him carefully, making sure he’s at least halfway out of the water.

“Good,” Credence says softly.

“Okay. Can I let go?”

His eyes widen. “No, please, I don’t know how to swim—”

“You’ll float,” Graves promises. “This is the first thing they teach little kids. I promise you’ll float as long as you stay relaxed.”

“Please,” Credence whimpers.

“Credence.”

The boy sighs, eyes fluttering shut. “Okay.”

Slowly and carefully Graves lets him go, stepping backwards. Credence’s body dips a little, and he nearly panics, but visibly composes himself. He floats. He looks like he’s holding his breath.

“Look at you!” Graves exclaims. “You’re floating!”

Credence smiles bashfully and keeps floating, arms and legs widening until he really is a bright little starfish, closing his eyes in the sunlight. “I like it. I like swimming.”

Graves chuckles. “You want to put your head in?”

“What if I breathe in the water?”

“Well… don’t?”

Graves gets his hands back under Credence’s body and guides him into more shallow water. Credence drops back to his feet, shaking his dripping hair. “Maybe I should try that another time.”

“You’re doing so well,” Graves tells him. “Here.” He reaches out and pinches Credence’s nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Just go under and you won’t breathe in any water.”

Credence looks a little bit like a grumpy child, glowering at Graves with his nose pinched shut. But he does, taking in a deep breath through his mouth and puffing his cheeks out before dropping under the water. Graves goes under with him, opening his eyes to watch Credence: eyes squeezed shut, face pinched up, cheeks round like a pufferfish. He stays under for as long as he can, an impressive length of time, really. And then he pops back up to the surface and Graves lets him go. He gulps in big breaths, rubbing at his eyes with his fists. 

“That was great,” he says with a little grin. “Like being baptized."

Graves laughs. “So you do know a thing or two about swimming.”

For at least another hour they stay in the water, Graves doing his best to teach Credence the basics, or at least enough to hopefully avoid drowning. By the time they head back to the beach, Credence can tread water, though he looks a bit like an uncoordinated deer when he does it, and he can go underwater without anybody holding his nose.

Inside, Jacob is just putting out a tray of freshly baked oatmeal cookies.

“Guess who learned how to swim!” Graves declares, pulling Credence close against his side. The boy flushes, but smiles when Jacob congratulates him and Tina and Newt cheer from where they’re cuddled up on the couch. 

“Oh, honey, that’s great!” Queenie squeals. “We’ll have to all go swimming together before the week’s over.”

“It was my first time ever,” Credence admits.

“First time swimming?” Theseus asks from the doorway. He and Viktor are just emerging from downstairs. Graves doesn’t take kindly to the smirk on his face, but Credence seems happily oblivious, still talking cheerfully with Queenie. Graves shoots Theseus a glare which the man doesn’t miss. 

Theseus turns to the rest of them. "Viktor and I have got something special for tonight. One last night of fun before we start stressing over all this wedding business.

"What're you planning, These?" Newt asks warily. Graves shares his concern, though more for Credence than himself. He's tried every drug known to man; there's nothing Theseus Scamander could present him with that would scare him. But Credence...

He gives the boy's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, pointedly ignoring his anxious glances. Whatever they may get into, he trusts himself to protect Credence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there were your two chapters of nice stuff before we get back into the angst and darkness!
> 
> also, i've started a post-crimes of grindelwald canon fic which you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16710970/chapters/39194014) if you've seen the film already
> 
> that one will be updating on thursdays, and this fic will continue monday/wednesday/friday!
> 
> thank you as always for your sweet comments and kudos and messages <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this chapter is not nice. some bad things happen. i'll put a tldr with the next update if you want to skip it.
> 
> <3

It’s early in the evening when Theseus pulls out the bag, eyes shining with some sort of dangerous excitement. Purple-grey growths, oddly shaped, curled and twisted and stuffed together within the plastic. _It’s the good stuff,_ Theseus tells them, _Got enough for all of us. We’ll trip real hard._

The terminology makes Credence uncomfortable, alien and unfamiliar, but he’ll sound stupid and uncultured if he asks any questions. So he lets Percy decide. Percy, of course, is all too keen on any drug, and talks him into it. Credence says okay, because that’s just what you do. Theseus gets to work dividing the things up on the kitchen table, passing folded napkins around the room, careful not to let anything slip out.

Credence stares at the little mound of dried mushrooms dubiously, waiting for somebody else to go first. Percy nudges him. “You wanna put them on something?”

“Should I?” Credence doesn’t know. He doesn’t know much of anything.

“Here. One sec.” Percy returns with a package of Oreo cookies and gets right to work pulling them apart, stuffing as many of the stringy little things between the sandwiched cookies as he can fit, handing a few of them over to Credence. “This should be enough for you.”

Credence waits until Percy’s eating his own before taking a bite. It doesn’t taste as bad as he’d anticipated; it’s more the texture that's strange. He chews for a very long time. When he finishes, four cookies deep, he sits back on the couch, legs crossed, waiting.

Theseus smirks at Percy. “How much did you give him?”

“‘Bout two-point-five,” Percy replies, shooting back a grin. Credence is frustrated; he wishes he understood this language. He wishes he understood these secretive little jokes between them. He feels like an outsider, like they’re always three steps ahead and doing their best to leave him behind, older siblings scheming to ditch an annoying little brother.

“Is that a lot?” He asks. Percy doesn’t reply, just kisses him hard, and his lips have that same odd taste that the mushrooms did. 

He doesn’t know what to expect. Percy tells him to give it an hour. He’s only ever smoked pot, and that usually hits him pretty fast and pretty hard. He doesn’t like the waiting. It makes him so anxious.

Percy is right, though. Just after nine o’clock, forty five minutes from when he’d taken his first bite, he’s staring at the windowsill when it starts to tremble. His eyes shoot over to Percy, sitting beside him, and Percy looks back at him, mouth breaking into a smile.

“You feel it, puppy?”

He watches Percy’s face, the edges nearly vibrating, each feature outlined in thin black lines like a messy sketch of a portrait, moving perpetually in midair. He doesn’t speak, just stares, taking it in.

“Oh, fuck,” Tina breathes, and Credence looks at her. She’s looking up at the ceiling, eyes wide and mouth open. He wonders what she can see. 

Everything starts to change. The room feels a lot smaller, but when he looks toward the door it suddenly expands endlessly, like there’s no door at all, no wall, just a vast and empty infinity. It makes him feel woozy. He fixes his eyes on his hands instead. They look pink and oddly soft, like all the little lines have been erased. He doesn’t know when somebody put on music but the sounds are suddenly washing over him, each instrument crystal clear and standing out in stark relief, like he can somehow focus on every separate part all at once. The lights start to change colour, red and orange washing over the room, making everything warm and saccharine. He sighs and sinks back into the couch, looking around in wonder.

Everything is moving. Everything is alive. Nothing sits still anymore; even the tiles of the kitchen floor are dancing around each other. The others are all laughing and talking at full speed, but his mind feels slowed down, and he lets their voices wash over him until they become a soothing hum. The song changes and he opens his eyes — everything is purple now, purple and rhythmically dimming and brightening. He looks down at his body and watches it morph, distending and shrinking, moving like a cartoon.

“Do you see it?” He asks Percy, his voice coming out in a near-whisper.

“I’m so glad you’re here, baby.” Percy holds him, and it always feels good when Percy holds him but it’s so much _more_ now, like he’s living inside the man’s warmth, like Percy is a house he could walk into. He wants to live there forever.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he says faintly, and he doesn't know why he says it, because he'd rather stay curled into Percy's side for the rest of his life. But something tells him it's time to move, and so he gets up and wanders down the hall. He doesn’t feel his feet touch the ground. He pictures himself as a ghost, floating through the house, and it makes him laugh. When he gets to the bathroom he clutches the edge of the sink and stares at himself in the mirror for a long time.

His pupils are blown out, the brown of his eyes barely visible, a thin ring around an endless black. He watches his face change, features distorting around the focal point of his eyes. They stay the same, but it’s as though each is at the center of a spiral, spinning and sparking around the two points. 

“Wow,” he says aloud, to nobody in particular.

He makes it to the toilet to pee, and that feels amazing. He marvels at his body and the capacity it has, all the things it does without him even telling it to. Suddenly the door is opening and Percy is coming in. His pupils are massive too, and his face is stuck in that Cheshire grin.

He’s just finished pulling his pants up when Percy unzips him, pushing him up onto the counter and cupping him through his underwear.

“Feel this, baby,” he says, his tone nearly manic, “You like it?”

When did they get here? Percy is rubbing his hand slowly over Credence’s dick, which starts to thicken immediately, his entire body tingling, pleasure radiating fast from the spot. It feels better than he can ever remember and his head drops back, hands braced on the countertop.

“Percy,” he chokes, and then he comes, and it hasn’t been this quick since the very beginning. He feels like a virgin again, like when he and Percy first met and he came within moments in their shared hotel room. He has a sudden thought that twists into his mind, and he can nearly  _see_ it, a tiny wisp of black smoke that leaks into his head, uninvited and unwelcome.  _It was so much better, then. It was so much happier._ He shakes his head, clenching one first against the countertop. Percy kisses him and then saunters out of the room, leaving Credence sticky in his pants, struggling to zip himself back up. He can’t think about cleaning up right now. It doesn’t matter. Everything is suddenly moving of it’s own accord, every little item on the countertop jumping and shivering, and he has to get back to everybody else.

He walks down the hall and it feels like the house is in slow motion. The floor keeps changing in front of him and he puts a hand out against the wall to catch his balance.

“Percy?” He says faintly. When did Percy leave? He stops for a moment to think. When did he get out here, into the hallway? When he looks down at the floor, it seems so far away. He leans his head against the wall and breathes slowly, closing his eyes, but he still sees movement on the back of his eyelids. His stomach hurts a little bit. He swallows hard and keeps going. 

Credence reaches the end of the hall and looks into the living room, where Percy is sitting close to Theseus on the couch. Talking with their hands moving and their eyes lit up like the neon lights on venue signs. So much light. He sees little trails of colourful light between them, connecting hands to hands, eyes to eyes, lips to lips. They’re enclosed in a wide, bright glow and he realizes he can’t go over there.

It takes effort to move his eyes. They land across the room. Tiny little spiders running across the wall. Oh. That’s alright.

“You okay, kid?” 

Viktor. Credence takes a step back, stumbling. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

The man’s face doesn’t look right. His features are too small, too symmetrical, like one side of his face was flipped over onto the other. He starts to feel nauseas. He keeps looking at Percy and Theseus and it only makes him feel more ill. 

He hears someone crying and he spins on his heel to see Newt, face buried in Tina’s neck, shoulders shaking. Tina has her arms wrapped around him and is whispering against his ear. She looks so scared. Something inside Credence is sinking. Everything has gone dark. What song is this? He doesn’t like it. It’s strange and too loud and makes him feel like something terrible is about to happen. Why is Newt crying? He’s always so happy. Credence has never seen him cry before.

He looks to Percy for help, for guidance, but he's still talking too close to Theseus, much too close. Credence feels lightheaded. He clutches the wall.

“Something’s wrong,” he whispers.

“What’s wrong?” Viktor.

_No, not you._

He stumbles away and into the bedroom he and Percy are sharing, shutting the door behind him. Everything looks so small. He feels a mile tall, stringy and wrong, too big for this room, like his head is about to break through the ceiling. When he’s standing, all the furniture looks so far away. When he sits down, he feels like he’s being consumed by it, like he’s going to sink down into the heavy blankets and disappear forever. He can’t wrap his mind around anything outside of this room existing. He looks out to the sea but everything is dark, just the stars twinkle dimly in the distance. They could be floating in outer space, for all he knows.

The door opens.

“Percy?”

“No, it’s me.”

Viktor again. Is he being sent by the Devil for Credence’s soul? Is he the Devil himself? Credence thinks he could be. He shrinks back against the wall, eyes wide, shaking. Viktor approaches and Credence looks into flat, soulless eyes.

Oh yes, Ma always told him he’d be taken eventually. The Devil would knock at his door, carry him off. His life may seem so pretty and sparkly now, but everything comes at a price.

“Are you going to take me away?” Credence whispers, and Viktor laughs. 

“Do you want me to?”

Credence whimpers, very distantly feeling dampness on his cheeks, tears dripping from his chin. Viktor sits beside him, leaning back against the wall and staring at him. He can’t understand the man’s face no matter how hard he tries; the features just don’t make sense. He can see each one individually but can’t group them together to form a comprehensible expression, something he can read. He feels lost.

“You’re so cute, Credence,” Viktor says, and then there’s a hand on his leg, and it isn’t Percy’s. Credence looks back and forth between the hand and Viktor’s face, realizing that every time. _Percy._

“Are you feeling okay?”

His thumb is rubbing Credence’s inner thigh. He’s suddenly aware of the tacky cum that’s caked onto his skin, some of it still wet, squishing around the crease between his thigh and groin. He feels disgusting, sinful and vile, and he knows that Viktor can feel it. The Devil knows his sins, has a list of infractions a mile long, ready to bring him in for judgement.

The door swings open. _Percy._

“Percy,” Credence cries, and it sounds like a baby’s voice, a babble, but he doesn’t care because he’s so relieved. 

“What the fuck!” Percy shouts. He’s angry. No. Why is he angry? Credence’s face falls. He gets up weakly onto his knees and tries to crawl across the bed, make his way to where Percy stands in the center of the room, everything orbiting around him. His Sun. His God.

And then he realizes it, this tableau, this physical representation that has finally fallen into place. Here he is, on his knees, torn between God and the Devil. He always knew Percy was someone to be worshipped, but realizing that he is God himself makes Credence fall back in awe, in indescribable pleasure. No need to worry. No need to feel shame for what they've done with each other. All this time, he’s been holy. 

But the Devil is there, trying to pull him back into Hell. He can feel it, the vicious pull in the air; though there’s no physical contact the force is still unbearable.

“Percy,” he begs. “Help me. Please help me.”

“What are you doing, Credence.” It isn’t even a question. Percy’s voice is shaking. Is it time to be punished? He hopes so. God, he loves when Percy takes it upon himself to provide Credence his deliverance, his absolution for his sins. He knows it must wear the man out. Oh, the things he does for his boy.

He manages to reach the edge of the bed, though it feels like miles from the wall. He looks up at Percy, wide-eyed and desperate, waiting. For what? To be hit or to be held? He isn’t sure.

_Ah._ There it is. His cheek warms, pain a very distant thing that doesn’t quite register. His head turns with the force of it and he breathes hard.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Quit fucking playing games,” Percy spits. Theseus appears in the doorway.

“What’s going on?”

“I caught your fucking muscle-head boyfriend feeling up Credence. Might want to have a talk with him about that.”

Theseus looks on in disbelief and then laughs, a sharp and angry thing. It makes Credence’s ears burst with pain and shock. Theseus turns his gaze on him and it burns into his eyes. “You got a thing for my leftovers, huh? Gonna follow me around and fuck everyone I put my hands on?”

“Huh?” Credence feels dizzy. He doesn’t know what’s happening. Everything has started to go very, very dark. The wallpaper was printed with flowers but it looks grimy now, dark red and brown, wet dirt and blood dripping from the ceiling. The proportions look all wrong, the room not quite rectangular anymore.

Viktor isn’t saying anything. Percy grabs Credence by the wrist and pulls him up, up, off the bed and onto his feet. He stumbles. His body stings with effort. “Can’t leave you alone for five _fucking_ minutes.” 

Percy drags him into the bathroom and throws him to the cold tile floor. His head hits the soft bath mat, small mercy, though he doesn’t feel much of anything. Percy is pacing around the tiny bathroom, muttering. He looks unhinged. Credence is afraid. His God is wrathful, his God will bring vengeance upon sinners. Ma tried to warn him.

And then Percy is shouting, shouting at him, and he doesn’t know when this part started. He can’t tell time anymore. Has it been hours? Days? Is it time to go home? Credence wants to go home. He starts to cry, an ugly and heaving thing, ripping out from the very core of him. 

“Is that what you want? Huh?” Percy is yelling, and someone is knocking at the door, hard and insistent, but he ignores it. “You want some fucking thick headed jock to fuck you? I’m not enough? How much more do I have to give, Credence? What about this isn’t enough for you? I’ve given you everything. _Everything._ Every. Fucking. Thing.”

The last three words are punctuated with his hands on Credence’s shoulders, shaking him. “Answer me. _Answer me._ ”

“I’m scared, Percy,” he whimpers through his sobs. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Percy shakes his head and straightens up, pressing a foot down between Credence's legs, where he’s grown hard again. His eyes are flat and black, ringed with violet, his face glitching like a frozen computer screen. “Sickening.”

Credence gasps at the pressure. Percy pushes down harder. A warning. 

Somebody is still knocking at the door.

“Percival, the fuck is going on?” Theseus. Percy opens the door.

“Deal with your fucking boyfriend, Theseus. And I’ll deal with mine.”

Theseus looks at Credence with a detached curiosity, and then back up at Graves. “Wouldn’t have thought you were the type, Graves.”

Percy slams the door shut. “There’s something bad in this place, Credence,” he says in a low voice, “Something isn’t right. Do you feel it? I feel it. It’s in the walls. It’s everywhere. We never should have come here."

Credence is shaking now, petrified and aching, sobs wracking his body like an empty puppet. “Stop it, Percy, please, I’m scared.”

“There’s something _bad,_ Credence,” he insists, falling to his knees and pulling Credence up by his hair, shaking his head, making him nauseous with the motion. “Listen to me!”

Credence keels over sideways and moans, cramps hitting him hard in the pit of his stomach, teeth clenched in pain. Everything hurts all of a sudden, and he focuses hard on not emptying his stomach onto the tile floor. “Hurts, Percy, I can’t—”

“It’s all in your head, Credence,” Percy hisses, pushing him onto his back again and pressing the heel of his palm down hard into his belly, “Everything is all in our heads.”

Credence _screams,_ curling into himself, twisting away from Percy. His God is not a merciful one, but then again, how could he be? Credence is not deserving of mercy. “Please, Percy, orchid, _orchid,_ please, I’m scared—”

“ _Graves!_ ” A voice is shouting. Someone is pounding on the door again. Finally it bursts open. Tina is there, wild-eyed and dishevelled. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Percy stands to face her and Credence curls up on his side, breathing hard through the sharp pain, face twisting. There are gentle hands on him then, rolling him over, and then it’s Tina’s soft face taking up the plane of his vision. “Are you okay?”

Credence just whimpers in response.

“God, Credence, fuck, I’m so sorry.” She pulls him up into her arms until he’s half sitting, half sprawled into her embrace and she rocks him like a child, pressing her face into his shoulder.

“Why does — why—” Credence’s body is convulsing as he cries. “Why does everyone want to hurt me.”

“Baby,” Tina breathes, holding him tighter, “I won’t hurt you. Newt and I will never hurt you, okay? We just want to help you.”

“I wanna go home,” Credence sobs. “I wanna go home.”

“Tina!” Someone calls. Jacob. She swears under her breath and then sets him gently down to lean back against the cabinets. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll come back, okay?”

She hurries away and Credence looks around the bathroom. Percy is gone. When did he go? Tina’s voice still echoes in his head. It’s the only thing that comforts him. He wants to find her again, to ask her to be his mother. It’s a silly thought, but it makes sense to him. 

He rises slowly to his feet, standing on shaky legs. The room keeps melting and rebuilding itself before him every time he blinks. He walks slowly out of the bathroom, hunched over slightly in pain, dragging himself back to the living room. Everything is dark, dark, dark. The music is low and unsettling. The room looks all wrong. He feels like he’s trapped in a nightmare that he can’t wake up from. 

Everybody is crying. Queenie is hysterical in Jacob’s arms. Newt is still sobbing, Tina wrapped around him, looking even more panicked than before. There is something dark in the room. Percy was right. He knew, of course he knew. He always knows everything.

“Newt,” he says weakly. Newt looks up, eyes glistening, face red.

“My father is dying,” he says, and then turns his face back into Tina’s shoulder.

There’s a hand reaching for him. Jacob. He moves closer.

“You okay, Cre?”

“Do you feel it?” He whispers, shaking with fresh tears. “Do you feel the darkness? There’s something bad.”

“I feel it,” Jacob says grimly, “We all do, kid. Everyone’s just having a really bad trip. It’s going to be okay, though. Have you done psychedelics before?”

Credence shakes his head.

Jacob huffs out a breath. “Okay. I know you feel kind of trapped right now. Right?” Credence nods. “A bad trip is kind of like a bad dream. Except it’s a lot more real. It feels like it’s actually happening. You just have to remember it’s all in your head.”

_It’s all in your head, Credence. Everything is all in our heads. Percy’s hand, pushing down on his belly. Percy, bringing him pain, making him suffer. Always. Eyes so black._

Credence starts to tremble again. Jacob’s eyes widen and his hand closes around Credence’s wrist. “Woah, woah, calm down. It’s okay. You’re going to go to sleep eventually and when you wake up it’ll be over, okay? I promise.”

“Is Queenie okay?” He asks softly. She’s never looked so small, folded up like a baby over Jacob’s lap, clutching at his sweater, weeping into the wool.

“She’ll be okay,” Jacob reassures him, hand rubbing her back, “Can you try to go to bed? If you can get to sleep, it’ll be over sooner.”

Credence doesn’t know how Jacob can be so calm. He must have done this before. Maybe he didn’t eat as much as everyone else did. 

He should go to bed. He really, really should. But he can’t make himself return to that room, to the place where Viktor touched him, where his thumb pressed into the fabric, the evidence of Percy’s presence not an inch away. It makes him feel sick.

He lurches out of the room and toward the front of the house, throwing the door open to the vast and endless night. It’s pouring rain, how did he not hear it? He shuts the door behind him and walks out onto the beach. His clothes are soaked straight through within seconds but he barely feels it as he wanders slowly toward the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know the events of this chapter seem pretty extreme, but keep in mind two things:
> 
> 1\. credence is under the influence of psychedelics, a substantial amount, for the first time ever - he's a very unreliable narrator here. take everything with a grain of salt.
> 
> 2\. bad trips can happen for many reasons. i was inspired by a bad trip i had myself, because of similar factors: too many people around, an unfamiliar place, everyone under various personal stresses, etc. PSA: be careful! psychedelics can be wonderful and enlightening and lots of fun but they can also turn a night into a terrifying and dark thing.
> 
> that being said, thank you for reading and commenting as always. <3


	6. Chapter 6

Graves drifts out of the bedroom, knuckles smarting from the impact of his fist against Viktor’s face. A small victory, one that probably hurt him more than the strong and unflinching man. Theseus was livid, shouting in his face, but Graves ignored him. The house seems so much darker than it did earlier. He usually isn’t prone to hallucinations but the atmosphere has taken a definite turn and he's overcome by a cacophony of crying as he enters the living room.

It’s like a post-apocalyptic war zone, bodies huddled together, weeping and comforting. Graves’ eyes narrow. “Where’s Credence?”

“I told him to go to bed.” Jacob’s voice from his left. Turning his head makes Graves feel nauseas, so he just stares at the floor.

“Did he?”

“I would hope so.”

Well, no, he couldn’t have, because Graves just came from their bedroom. 

“Where the fuck is Credence?”

Nobody answers him. He moves down the hall, feeling oddly queasy. Mushrooms haven’t hit him this hard in a long time. Maybe they were laced. He doesn’t fucking trust Theseus anymore. Him and his thick-skulled moron of a boyfriend.

He’s about to go upstairs when something catches his eye through the wide front window. The window frame is shaking, spinning, growing and shrinking like he’s zooming in on it with his eyes. He moves closer, squinting. It’s pouring rain in all directions, up and down, backwards and forwards. There’s figure on the beach, moving slowly toward the sea. Rain bouncing off the body, coming down hard and flooding everything. _Credence._

Graves throws the door open and staggers down the walkway and onto the beach.

“Credence!” He shouts, but the wind carries his voice away instantly. _Fuck._

He runs as best as he can, weighed down by the rain and the wind and the drugs in his system. He can barely see, no windshield wipers for his fucking eyes, squinting at the figure which has just now reached the edge of the water. 

Graves watches, horrified, as he keeps going forward.

“ _Credence!_ ” He’s screaming now, at the top of his lungs, voice breaking, bolting through the wet, muddy sand towards the shoreline. “ _Credence!_ ”

The boy doesn’t turn around, doesn’t stop moving for a second. By the time Graves reaches the edge of the water he’s in to his waist. Graves runs, splashing through the shallows, and it’s like a fucking nightmare where you’re being chased and you can’t move fast enough to get away. Running in slow motion. He tries to go faster but the water makes it impossible and suddenly, awfully, Credence disappears into the ink-black sea.

Graves screams, a howling, broken sound and dives under, reaching blindly, hand hooking under a warm body and pulling, pulling, pulling. 

Credence comes up gasping for breath, looking at him with glossy eyes.

“Credence,” Graves sobs, repeating the boy’s name, over and over and over again. He pulls him against his body and pushes his way through the water, dragging him back to shore, collapsing at the edge where the waves lap gently at their sopping bodies. He holds the boy in his lap, weighed down by his wet clothes, hair stuck to his face like a morbid halo. Credence stares up at him reverently.

“You saved me,” he whispers, and the sound is lost to the storm but Graves reads his lips, reads the expression on his face.

“Of course I did,” Graves says miserably, “Credence, I love you.”

“You make me holy,” he says, and his eyes flutter closed.

“Credence, what are you talking about?” Graves demands, shaking him until his eyes open. He has to shout to be heard over the rain, over the roaring sea. 

“I think I’m losing my mind,” Credence says.

Graves feels fear twisting inside him, as violent as the storm raging above them. He barely even notices the rain as it falls sharp and heavy over their bodies. He holds Credence close, cradling him like a baby, keeping him safe against his chest. 

“You’re just tripping, baby, it’s okay.”

He knows it isn’t. His voice doesn’t sound convincing, not even to himself. This is more than just a bad trip. 

“Percival?”

Tina. Her voice, carried over the wind, echoing like she’s at the end of a very long tunnel. He hears thudding footsteps running up behind him.

“What…” she collapses at the sight of them, head shaking, eyes filling with despairing tears. “What are you doing?”

“Gotta get him inside,” Graves mutters, stumbling to his feet, holding Credence’s small, trembling form close to his body. “He’s cold.”

Tina runs after him, shouting all the way, but he doesn’t hear a single word she says. He carries Credence inside, the boy staring at him, motionless, looking frighteningly still and not so alive. The only signs of life are his little sputters as he steadily chokes up water, letting it dribble down his chin. 

Inside, everything is chaos. The group descends upon them immediately, demanding to know what happened, some still crying, some still looking so far away in the eyes that Graves scares himself wondering if they'll ever fully come back from this. He ignores them all and brings Credence to the bathroom, setting him down to sit on the countertop, holding on for a moment to make sure he isn’t going to keel over.

Graves peels off his soaked clothes and wraps him in the biggest towel he can find in the bathroom cabinet. Credence shivers, hair dripping slowly, leaning his head toward Graves. Subconscious. Graves puts a hand out to his forehead. It can’t have been longer than four hours. It’ll still be a while until they can properly come down, until Graves can stop feeling paranoid and trying to rip the Devil out of Credence’s poor, tired body; until Credence can stop seeing whatever horrific hallucinations are plaguing him. 

Nobody notices when Graves takes Credence to bed. He locks the door and dresses the boy in fresh underwear and a tee shirt and lays him down carefully, unable to tear his eyes away from his blank and vacant stare. His pupils are still blown. Graves can see colours dancing around the pale form of his body.

He gets into bed beside him, though he thinks he may never sleep soundly again. 

 

———

 

Graves wakes with a dry mouth, head pounding, like he'd spent a night throwing back whiskey shots. It takes a moment for him to register the events of last night. Right. He’d just spent it tripping on what he’s certain must have been laced mushrooms, beating up the love of his life on the bathroom floor, and then chasing him out into a hurricane when he tried to drown himself in the sea. 

Another night for the books.

Credence is already awake when he rolls over. He’s on his side, watching him with wide, unblinking eyes. 

“G’morning, baby,” Graves says, wincing at the stabbing pain in his head. “You feel okay?”

Credence nods slowly. “What did we take?”

“Fuck if I know. Didn’t feel like a normal mushroom trip to me, although I guess it could have been. Something just went wrong. That or it was laced with something.” Credence looks alarmed but Graves shakes his head. “We’re fine. Don’t worry. It’s over now.”

He runs the back of his hand delicately down Credence’s cheek and the boy turns into the touch, eyes closing. “I’m sorry I went out into the water. I don’t know what I was doing. I was seeing things.”

“I know,” Graves says, “Don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you or scare you like that.” He recalls something suddenly and his eyes narrow. “That fucker, Theseus’ guy, Viktor? What’d he do? Did he touch you?”

Credence shifts uncomfortably. “He kept trying to talk to me, but I just wanted to get away. So… so I came in here, and I shut the door, but then suddenly he was inside. Everything felt so weird, like I was somewhere and then I was somewhere else, you know? Like everything kept changing. So then he sat next to me, and I realized he was the Devil.”

“Woah,” Graves says, laughing under his breath. “That bad, huh?”

“You were God,” Credence says in a half-whisper, a little smile playing at his lips. “You saved me.”

Graves just stares back at him. He doesn’t know what to say. It frightens him.

“Um.” Credence squirms, sighs. “Then he touched me, right here.” He takes Graves’ hand in his soft, sweaty palm and brings it down to that little fold where Credence’s hip becomes his thigh, buried right next to his most sacred parts. One of Graves’ favourite spots. Graves frowns, keeping his fingertips pressed there even after Credence’s hand drifts away, He strokes, rubs softly. Credence sighs again.

“I’ll talk to Theseus,” Graves says finally. 

“Do you love him?” Credence asks abruptly, and then looks like he wants to swallow the words right back into his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Baby, no,” Graves says, reaching over to cup his cheek, which is blooming a humiliated red. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you. I know I was talking to him when I should have been taking care of you. We just… we used to be really good friends, you know. Even aside from all the other stuff. I don’t really see him anymore. But there’s nothing there, nothing at all, at least on my end.” He considers. “I think that maybe Theseus never got over me, not really. See, he wasn’t out yet, back when we were... involved. He got this job opportunity and wanted me to move here with him. I told him no way, not if he wasn’t even going to be open about what we were to each other, and even then. I like New York. I didn’t want to leave. So he came out in an attempt to make me go with him. But I didn’t.”

“Oh,” Credence says softly. “Was he angry?”

“No, not angry,” Graves muses, “He was mostly just sad. I haven’t really seen Theseus get angry, except…”

“Except last night,” Credence finishes for him.

Graves cringes. “Don’t even think about what he said. He was completely out of it. He probably feels terrible. I think Viktor is his attempt at making me jealous, and so to come in and see you with him in here, especially when he’s tripping out and seeing God knows what… he wasn’t himself. That’s all.”

And Graves is right: when they finally emerge into the living room, where everybody is sitting around drinking coffee and looking vaguely traumatized, Theseus is upon them immediately.

“Credence, I’m so sorry,” he says mournfully, pulling the boy into a rather awkward hug. “I can’t believe I said those things to you. And Perce…” he sighs, turning to Graves. “Viktor is gone. I called him a cab first thing in the morning. I’m so sorry."

Graves shakes his head. “What was in that shit, These?”

“Fuck knows,” Theseus says in a low voice. “Viktor got ‘em. I shouldn’t have made you all do it. That was fucked up.”

“No more drugs, at least until the wedding’s over.”

“No more drugs,” Tina agrees. “Jesus, we’re gonna be dead before we can even make it official.”

Newt is sitting quietly at the table, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, not moving once to drink from it. “I think we are all going to agree not to talk about what happened last night,” he says in a very quiet voice. “And we are also going to agree not to do that again.”

“Are you guys hungry?” Queenie asks softly. “I can make breakfast.”

“Don’t worry about it, Queenie,” Graves says. “I don’t have much of an appetite. I’ll make Credence some toast.”

Credence tries to protest that he isn’t hungry either but Graves ignores him, murmuring _you gotta eat, baby_ as he passes him a plate with peanut butter coated toast. He eats in delicate little bites, looking rather queasy. 

He can tell everyone is trying not to stare at them. Graves keeps his hand on Credence’s waist, protective. They have no idea.

“Anything you need us to do for tomorrow?” Graves addresses Tina, who shakes her head. The wedding is going to be a tiny thing, only the seven of them and Newt’s parents, practically an elope. They’re going to have the ceremony on the beach and then go out to eat at a restaurant a short drive away from the bay.

“Let’s just relax for today,” Tina says, “I think we could all use some rest.”

 

——

 

Graves gives Credence the option to drive into the city or take a walk through the forested area behind the beach house. Credence opts for the walk, and Graves can tell he’s still sensitive from the drugs — more reactive to sound, wincing at any loud and sudden noises, more on edge. So they take a hike through the woods, their feet crunching through leaves, disturbing the stillness of the surrounding nature.

“Can I ask you a question?”

They haven’t spoken for a few minutes, and Graves is almost startled by Credence’s voice. “Sure, what is it?”

“When did you know you were gay?”

Graves pauses for a moment, considering as they turn a corner in the trail, heading deeper into the woods. “I think maybe part of me always knew, but I didn’t let that part in. You know? I dated a lot of girls in high school. I’m definitely not one hundred percent gay, I don’t really believe anyone is one hundred percent anything.” He shoots Credence a knowing look. “I had a few secret hookups with guys when I was a teenager but I always convinced myself it didn’t mean anything. When I was twenty, I finally kind of let myself accept it. I dated this guy for a few months. It was short lived but it was the beginning of everything. What about you?”

“I think I always knew,” he says softly, “Even when I was a little kid. I used to have dreams about playing with boys at recess. There was one in particular who I really liked. His name was Malcolm. We used to play pirates out in the fields at school.”

Graves chuckles. “And where’s Malcolm now?”

Credence shrugs. “He moved away when I was in fifth grade. By that time we weren’t really friends anymore. He became friends with the more… popular kids, and then he didn’t want to talk to me anymore. But he made me realize, even though I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know about sex or dating or any of it. But I knew I wanted to be around him all the time. And that’s what it’s all about, right?” He gives Graves a little smile, trailing their fingers together. Graves grips his hand.

“Right. That’s what it’s all about.” He looks up at the sky, sun pouring in through the canopied branches. “It’s beautiful here. Maybe we should move to England.”

Credence smirks. “But you love New York.”

“I love New York,” Graves agrees, and they fall into silence again.

“You know a long time ago when Modesty mentioned that time I had to go to the hospital? Because of Ma?” Credence’s voice sounds a little nervous and he hooks his ring finger with Graves’. He nods in acknowledgement. “I found this book at the school library. It was a chapter book, the first one I ever read. I was thirteen, I think. It took me months to finish it, and I could only read it when it was safe, when Ma wasn’t around.” He takes in a slow breath. “It was about two boys who fall in love. Up ’til then I didn’t know anybody else was like me. It was so amazing, suddenly I realized that it wasn’t just me, and that I had a real chance to find somebody… somebody to be with. Who was like me. But Ma found me reading it one night and went crazy.”

Graves feels ill, deep in his core, knowing the answer before he asks the question. “What did she do?”

“She beat me,” Credence says, “Really, really bad. She hit me a lot but never like that. It was like she was seeing the Devil himself on my face. She whipped me until I was bleeding and begging her to stop and Modesty saw the whole thing from the doorway. I kept looking over at her and trying to mouth to her to leave but she wouldn’t. She was so scared. I almost went unconscious. And then when she finally stopped, I was bleeding so bad I had to go get stitches. She told them I fell out of a tree or something, I don’t really remember. But I didn’t say anything.”

Graves is silent. His mind is spinning out of control. “Did you ever tell anyone?”

Credence shakes his head, frowning. “No. I didn’t go to school for a week because I looked too beat up. Ma didn’t want anyone to know. After that, I told myself I’d never look at the book again. And I’d never look for someone to love me like that. I thought I didn’t deserve it.”

“You deserve it more than anyone,” Graves says quietly.

Credence leans into him, matching their footsteps. “Were your parents always okay with it?”

Graves laughs grimly. “If you consider my father to seem ‘okay with it’, then I guess so.” He regrets the words immediately. Compared to Mary Lou, beating Credence nearly to death for reading a _book_ about being gay, his father’s passive aggressive comments must seem like complete acceptance. “They never gave me any trouble,” he says quickly, “My mother just wants me to be happy. My father wants me to have an heir for him or whatever, but he’s not going to fight me over it.”

“I can tell he doesn’t like me much.”

“No, it’s not you,” Graves tells him. “Don’t think that. It’s me. He’s never approved of what I’ve chosen to do with my life, from the moment I told him I wasn’t gonna take over their business and be a lawyer. It’s his own problem.”

They’ve reached the end of the trail, and are now faced with a seemingly endless expanse of trees and leaves and flowers. Credence tugs at his hand, backing up against a tree and pulling Graves in to kiss him. He does, slow and sweet. Credence’s mouth still tastes like peanut butter and Graves smiles at the innocence of it all. 

“I’m so glad I met you,” Credence breathes. “I don’t think I’d be alive if I hadn’t.”

That’s a lot; far too much for Graves to think about, let alone respond to. So he doesn’t reply, just kisses Credence harder, more insistently. Biting at his plush lower lip until it’s dark and damp, Credence looking up at him, face consumed with yearning.

Graves' hands slip up under Credence’s sweatshirt and trail across his belly, the tight and twitching muscles, up to his nipples, small and pointy and desperately sensitive. Credence pants softly, chasing after Graves’ lips, kissing him feverishly. He drops to his knees, bared by his shorts, on the flattened grass of the forest floor. He looks up, lips red and bitten, eyes round and wanting. Graves groans and Credence mouths over his inner thigh, still watching him under dark brows.

He unzips himself with shaky hands, silent permission, and Credence stares at him hungrily as he pulls his hardened cock out. Credence accepts it into his mouth — barely even choking as Graves bottoms out in his warm throat. His boy has learned so well. Credence sucks enthusiastically, throat convulsing around Graves, the ribbed channels making his entire body burn with need.

“Fuck, Credence,” he gasps, bracing his arm against the tree, “ _Jesus…_ ”

He comes embarrassingly fast, though he’s sure Credence doesn’t mind. Spilling down his throat, the boy swallowing happily, licking his lips to taste every last drop as Graves pulls out, smearing some cum around his mouth. Credence’s expression is glazed over, looking up at Graves hopelessly, and the man can see the bulge of his erection through his shorts.

“Up, baby,” he murmurs, drifting in the bliss of his orgasm, pressing Credence back against the tree and kissing him lazily, wet and open mouthed, tasting himself sticky on the boy's eager tongue. Credence pushes his hips forward, moaning into Graves’ mouth, unabashed.

“So dirty,” Graves whispers. “My filthy boy. What if somebody hears you? What if somebody walks by and sees you like this?”

This only makes Credence whine louder, breath coming out in laboured huffs, clutching hard at the back of Graves’ shirt. He takes pity on the boy and slips a hand beneath his waistband, feeling how hard and damp he’s grown, cock twitching through his underwear.

“Oh, baby,” he says softly. “You’re so needy."

“Please,” Credence whimpers. “Can you…”

He grabs at Graves’ hand clumsily, pulling it up to his throat and looking at him through hooded eyes.

As if he could possibly say no.

Graves reaches into Credence's underwear, not even freeing him, just pulling on him in the confined space, warm and balmy, sticky with precum. With his other hand he pushes at Credence’s throat, watching carefully as the boy’s eyes flutter closed, lips parting.

“Tap me three times if it’s too much, okay?”

Credence nods jerkily, going pink in the face as Graves squeezes harder, cutting off his blood flow, tugging at his dick slow and sweet. Credence can barely make a sound beyond short little gasps, hands still clutching at the fabric of Graves’ shirt, rocking his hips forward into his hand.

“Harder,” he manages in a choked voice, face tinged purple now. Graves doesn’t know whether he means on his neck or on his dick, so he plays it safe and goes with both. Jerking Credence hard and fast, hand gripping his throat with white knuckles, feeling every tendon, every little thread of life that holds his boy together. Credence’s body twitches and he makes a strangled sound before coming hard all over Graves’ hand, which slows but still pulls lazily, letting Credence ride out the aftershocks as Graves chokes him to the verge of blacking out. 

When his grip finally loosens, Credence heaves in a rattling breath, choking, clinging to Graves like his life depends on it. And maybe it does.

Graves kisses his face, all over, whispering soothing words as the boy gasps for breath, body still shuddering in post-orgasm bliss.

“So good,” he manages to say, his voice scratchy and weak from the one-two punch of having his throat fucked and then being strangled nearly to unconsciousness. Graves pulls back and examines his neck, pressing around the glans, hearing Credence hiss when he prods a little too hard. There are bruises darkening in the shape of his hand and he curses himself inwardly. At least his shirt for the wedding will have a collar.

They stay there for a moment, the world still except for a slow breeze bristling through the trees, upturning the leaves on the ground, wrapping around them and holding them there, in each other’s arms.

 

——

 

Newt’s parents arrive late in the evening. Mr Scamander looks hardly worse for wear, though he does move rather slowly, and Mrs Scamander fusses over him every time he tries to rise from his chair.

“Olivia,” he chastises, “I’m fine.” 

Graves can see the tears glossing over her eyes.

It’s a strange thing, to see what’s coming and be helpless in the face of it. Theseus busies himself constantly, not letting any of it hit him. Newt is a bit less adept at concealing his feelings, looking like he's always on the verge of tears, Tina rubbing his back reassuringly whenever he turns away.

“It’s cancer,” Tina confides in him late that night as they sit out on the porch, matching glasses of scotch in hand. “Liver. It’s bad. I don’t… I don’t know how long he has. I don’t want to ask.”

“Newt’s not doing well, I guess.”

She shakes her head, frowning. “No, he… no. Not at all. They’re so close, you know, they always have been.”

Graves nods. He remembers the summers he’d spent in Newt’s backyard, in the Scamanders' pool: Mr Scamander swimming with them, teaching them how to play frizbee the right way, taking them on bike rides through the sparse trails of the suburbs. All the fatherly things that Frederick Graves had been too busy to partake in — it had been Rod Scamander who’d done it. Graves’ own father had always been dismissive of Newt’s family; they weren’t wealthy, or elite, they were humble and kind and neighbourly. The fact that they’d ended up on the same street as the family was purely due to Cecilia demanding they settle for less so little Percival would be able to walk to school.

“Maybe you guys should stay,” Graves suggests. “You know, to be with him.”

Tina sighs. “We’ve got shows to play, Perce. Songs to record.”

Graves shrugs. “Who gives a fuck? This is more important, isn’t it?”

Tina just looks at him for a moment, taking a sip of her drink. "It is. But you know Newt. He doesn’t want to let anybody down.”

Graves can’t argue with that. They finish their drinks in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so percy and credence finally have, like, a conversation, so that's good. but glossing over a night like that may not be the best course of action. who knows!
> 
> fyi, interpret it how you'd like but in my mind the mushrooms weren't laced. hallucinogenic trips can go terribly wrong if your environment/headspace isn't good. i've had experiences of thinking they were laced when they definitely weren't. external stressors can play a huge role.
> 
> we're nearing the end of this one already. thanks for sticking with me <3


	7. Chapter 7

Credence feels rather alien in the suit. He’s worn them very rarely, only for magazine spread photoshoots, and he can’t quite figure out how to tie his tie. Queenie fusses over him relentlessly, insisting that she get him ready so Percy can be surprised when he sees him later. It’s a little embarrassing; Credence isn’t the bride, after all, but he goes along with it if only to please her.

“Oh, you’re so _cute_ ,” she coos, straightening out the dark blue suit jacket and tugging the pants higher up on his hips. He surrenders himself to her primping, letting her comb his hair back with some kind of product that keeps it in place, despite its usual untameable curls. As she’s grooming him, her hand suddenly falls to the base of his throat, the collar of his shirt having slipped aside.

“Honey,” she says, her voice laced with concern. “What happened?”

The blossom of pale, lilac-coloured bruises stand out against his skin, not exactly obvious in their finger-shaped impression, but Queenie is standing close, close enough that he can smell her flowery perfume and feel her breath against his cheek.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, tugging the collar back in place. “It’s fine.”

“Baby, is everything okay?” She takes his hands and looks at him, eyes imploring and sympathetic. “If there’s something… you know, you can tell me, if—”

He shakes his head hastily. “Everything’s fine, Queenie.”

She eventually stops pressing, but her concern digs a cavity in his chest that only deepens with every minute he spends thinking about it. Maybe it’s not normal to be covered in bruises all the time. He’s certainly used to it; he’s never known another life, but maybe he should. He used to fantasize about getting out of that church, away from Ma, having clear and smooth and unblemished skin, no more purples and blues, no more red scrapes, no more sickly faded greens and yellows. He has a sudden sickly feeling that he’s walked out of her grasp and straight into Percy’s.

He shakes the thoughts from his head, scolding himself. Percy loves him so much. Percy wouldn’t do these things if Credence didn’t ask him to, didn’t beg for it. It’s his own fault.

Queenie has her back turned, busying herself at the makeup-strewn countertop. Credence watches her move, her slender body moving gracefully as she puts things back into place. He wants her to be his mother. The thought makes him feel insane. First Tina, and now Queenie — if they could read his mind, they’d probably think he’s crazy too.

“Queenie?” He speaks suddenly, almost against his will. She turns, a warm smile on her face.

“What is it, honey?”

“Do you and Jacob fight a lot?”

She looks surprised for a moment, and then she shakes her head fervently, coming back over to where he sits on the vanity stool. 

“We don't fight," she says, “We have difficult discussions sometimes, and it gets hard when I’m on tour. We sometimes forget how important it is to communicate, you know? But we don’t fight. Why’re you asking, Cre?”

He shrugs, feeling dumb. “Me and Percy, we fight a lot. I don’t want to fight with him, not ever, but it just keeps happening and I don’t know why.”

Queenie looks at him sadly. “Percy is my friend, and I love him, but if he’s hurting you…”

“No,” Credence says, his voice very small. “He’s good to me, Queenie. I just fuck up a lot. I always make him angry, and then he feels bad for being angry.”

“He’s got a temper,” Queenie tells him. “He always has. But he shouldn’t take it out on you, sweetheart, you don’t deserve that.” She sits on the edge of the bed, watching him carefully. “The other night, when we all did those drugs, what happened?”

“You were sad,” Credence says softly, and then looks to her for correction, but she just nods.

“I was sad,” she agrees. “I was sad for a lot of reasons that I didn’t really understand. That can happen when you have a bad trip. It brings things up that you didn’t know were there before.”

“You’ve done it before?”

“Yes,” she says with a quiet laugh, looking down at her hands. “Oh, yes, a bunch of times. I’ve had some really good experiences too, though. It’s usually not like that. I think we were all just stressed out, holding things back, in an unfamiliar place.” She rests a hand on his, which is fidgeting against his knee. “Do you feel okay now?”

He nods jerkily, not looking back at her.

“What happened with Percy that night?”

He doesn’t want to tell her. He has an awful feeling that if he says it out loud, that means it’s all real. He starts to feel like maybe the fact that he doesn’t want to tell her is sign enough.

“Um. Viktor, he came into our bedroom when I was sitting in there, and he was… he was trying to touch me.” He swallows down his embarrassment, his nervousness. Queenie’s face doesn’t change, still as calm and comforting as always. “Percy came in and he was angry, because he thought I wanted it, I guess. But I would never. I couldn’t.” He frowns. “And then Percy brought me to the bathroom, because he didn’t… he doesn’t like to have fights in front of people.”

A look of alarm crosses Queenie’s face, just for a split second, so brief that Credence wonders if he’d imagined it.

“Your fights,” she says delicately. "What does that mean, Credence?”

Credence shrugs, looking away, hand twitching under her palm. “When I do something bad, he gets upset. That’s okay. He’s allowed to be upset.” He feels suddenly defensive, suddenly regretful of bringing it up.

“Does he hit you?”

The words shock him, physically, and he startles, looking at her with wide eyes. For a moment he doesn’t speak, and he knows that’s all the answer she needs. “I have a word,” he tells her. “If I don’t like it. He knows that. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

Queenie looks like she still doesn’t understand. “Do you need me to help you, Credence?”

He shakes his head, panicked. “No. Please don’t say anything, Queenie. I’m okay. Please.”

She looks at him for a long time and then pats his hand, stands up and goes back to the table. “We should go out now, I think everybody else is probably ready.” Her voice has gone distant and he feels rueful of the entire conversation. He’s so stupid. Always worrying everybody. 

“Okay,” he says quietly, and he follows her out of the room.

In the hall, he catches his reflection in the mirror, and is surprised at how _mature_ he looks. He hates the word, he always has, but it’s the only one that fits. His hair combed back, the lines of his face sharp, his clothing neat and perfectly tailored to his body. He tries to stand tall, pull his shoulders back. He looks even older, then, maybe finally close to his real age, and not quite so 15-years-old. Queenie smiles at the sight of him admiring his reflection.

“You look good, honey. Percy’s gonna fall over when he sees you.”

He hopes that her casual comment means she’s choosing to forget their previous conversation. 

And she’s right: as he steps outside to the walkway to the beach, where a small but beautiful set up of chairs and flowers and an arch covered in fluttering ribbons lies in wait, Percy walks up toward him with adoration in his eyes.

“My beautiful boy,” he whispers, cupping Credence’s face. “I didn’t think I could possibly fall more in love, but fuck. You make it difficult to not make a fool of myself.”

He looks stunning himself, hair perfectly slicked back, his suit clinging in all the right places, face shaved smooth. Credence swoons at the thought of Percy taking him to bed later tonight, both of them pleasantly dishevelled after their evening of drinking and dancing, how sweet it will feel to fall into each other’s arms again.

The ceremony is short but beautiful, and Credence’s eyes burn with tears as he watches Newt and Tina, hands clutched together and eyes locked on each other’s, both crying and smiling and so in love. He leans his head on Percy’s shoulder and Percy rubs his knee, sniffling above him. Once it’s been made official and everyone has hugged and wept and congratulated, they pile into two cars to make the drive to the restaurant. It isn’t a formal wedding in the slightest, but Credence thinks that’s kind of perfect for Tina and Newt anyway.

They feast on overpriced delicacies, sipping red wine and sharing appetizers, seated at a long table in a private room of the restaurant. Credence keeps glancing over at Theseus, who looks rather sad. He is the only one at the table without somebody at his side, and Credence feels almost guilty for causing the fall out with Viktor. It was his fault, after all, for tempting him.

But then Jacob is demanding a speech from Theseus and so he launches into one, rife with embarrassing stories about Newt’s childhood, and soon enough Percy is chiming in with tales from their high school friendship, and everybody is laughing raucously. Their glasses of wine are refilled constantly by waiters and Credence starts to float, humming contentedly when Percy puts a hand around his waist, pulling him in close beside him.

They go out to an elegant bar afterwards and trade wine for shots and cocktails. Everybody is sufficiently wasted at this point, save for Newt’s parents, who agreed to be the drivers. Even Credence is stumbling, feeling dangerously close to his level of intoxication that night they’d celebrated Gellert’s downfall. Gellert. It’s rare that the man crosses his mind anymore, and for that, Credence is grateful.

He staggers to the bathroom at some point and splashes water on his face, staring himself down in the mirror. His hair has fallen slightly out of place from its perfectly combed state, the top button of his shirt is undone and he’d taken his jacket off in the car. The bruises are visible but the bar is dark, and nobody has made any comments yet. He lets his hand trail up to his throat, tracing the ring of purple spots, swallowing hard at the feeling when he wraps his own hand around himself, right in the blueprint of where Percy’s had been. He closes his eyes and imagines being there again, out in the woods, suffocating slowly, his world narrowed down to _Percy._ As if there is anything else. As if there ever could be.

The door to the bathroom swings open and Credence startles, quickly turning on the tap and pretending to be washing his hands. It’s Theseus, walking unsteadily, face tinged pink with drunkenness. He lets out a low whistle at the sight of Credence.

“He’s got ya good, huh.”

“Um. I don’t know what you mean.” Credence’s voice comes out nervous and shaky and he hates himself for it.

“You,” Theseus says, jabbing a finger at him. “You _do_ know. That’s Percy for ya. You think you understand n’then suddenly it’s all flipped over. I never let him do that shit to me.” He waves a hand in the general direction of Credence’s throat. “Wasn’t into that when _I_ knew him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Credence mumbles, buttoning his shirt right up to the collar. “Sorry.”

“S’okay, you’re a good kid,” Theseus slurs. “I like you, Credence. Don’ trust Perce, though, not with something beautiful like you.”

Credence feels nauseous all of a sudden. He grips the edge of the sink and stares down at the shining silver drain. His stomach clenches and unclenches and he wills himself steady, begs his body not to betray him and start puking now of all times.

“Someone like you needs something delicate.” Theseus is leaning against the metal door of the stall, watching him. It’s not lust in his eyes, no — it’s concern. Credence feels his insides twist. He suddenly wants to cry. “You need someone nice. Straight up fuckin’ nice. Like my brother.” He laughs loudly. “Man, if my brother was gay, that’d be like, the perfect guy for you, y’know? Not me. Not Perce. None of us are fuckin’ nice.” He shakes his head, frowning at the floor. “Nah. Someone who’ll be gentle with you.”

With that, Credence leaves, trying to keep himself straight as he makes his way back to the table, back onto his stool next to Percy’s. Percy greets him with a kiss, tasting like straight whiskey, setting Credence’s nerves on fire. He doesn’t know if it’s desire or fear. He doesn’t really know the difference anymore.

They get back to the beach house after two o’clock. Credence is exhausted and drunk, wanting nothing more than to sleep for at least twelve hours. They have a full day of nothing tomorrow; they don’t fly home until Monday. He shifts back until he’s nestled in the Percy’s arms, curled perfectly to fit against his front.

“Credence,” Percy says, voice a slurred mumble, barely audible against Credence’s bare shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says softly, eyes closed, floating slowly toward sleep.

“Let’s get married.”

Credence’s eyes burn and he stays still, letting the silence of the room wash over them both. He doesn’t say a word.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter already! thanks for sticking with it <3

Graves watches Credence carefully all morning. The boy slinks around, from bed to couch, kitchen counter to kitchen sink, bathroom to window, porch to the expansive, vacant beach. There’s something so captivating about his slippery movements, his long and lanky body, his nervous eyes. 

Now that Newt’s parents are here, everyone is a little more reserved. At least, they aren’t doing any drugs or drinking themselves blind. Mr Scamander is slow on his feet, and Graves helps him as much as he can without making an issue of it. He’s always been a dignified man and Graves can tell he hates being waited on.

Credence is quiet all day. He eats lunch with Tina on the back deck. Graves watches them watching the tide pour in over the beach, eating sandwiches on croissants and drinking lemonade. It’s a cool day; the sun has yet to show itself. Credence pulls his dark blue jacket tight around his shoulders. Graves resists the urge to go out there and wrap him up in his arms, warm him against his body. 

Graves packs both of their suitcases in preparation for their early morning flight. He takes his time folding Credence’s pants, holding his shirts up to his face, breathing in the sweet scent. Credence never wears cologne, he always just smells like _Credence._

It’s late in the afternoon when there’s a knock at the bedroom door. He finishes folding Credence’s soft grey sweatshirt and goes to answer — but the door is already swinging open, Queenie standing breathless in the doorway. She looks… resolute.

She steps inside, shuts the door behind her, and clenches her jaw.

“We need to talk about Credence.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Um.”

“Can we sit down?”

They do, Queenie looking determined and Graves starting to get a little concerned. “Is everything — is he okay?”

He hasn’t spoken to Queenie one on one in some time. He doesn’t see her very often. He knows Credence likes her, but he never thought they were all that close.

“You need to stop, Percival.” Her voice is shaking. “Whatever it — whatever it is that you’re doing to that boy, you need to stop, and you need to stop now. Tina was gonna talk to you but I wanted to do it, because I helped Credence get ready for the wedding, and I saw bruises. He told me it’s all fine but I’m not gonna stand for it, honey. You’re my friend and I love you. But Credence is hurting and you need to help him, not hurt him more.”

Graves is mute. His mind is reeling. 

“I know you love him,” she says, her voice a bit softer now. “But that isn’t love, Perce, I need you to try, I need you to tell me—”

“Yeah,” he says. His voice is dry. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Um, we’re going to work on it.”

“ _You,_ ” she says sharply. “ _You_ are going to work on it. Because I don’t see that poor sweetheart beating on you.”

Graves scoffs. “I’m not—”

“Teenie told me what she saw in the bathroom that night!” Her voice is going shrill and Graves winces, hoping to God no one is overhearing this conversation. “And Teenie’s not a liar. Not an exaggerator, either. Stop hurting him. I mean it.”

“I told you,” he mumbles. “I’m going to work on it.”

He feels like a child caught red-handed, contrite and embarrassed. Queenie gives him one last fiery look before she leaves the room.

———

 

Dinner is peppered with quiet conversation, little jokes — everyone is tired and dreading waking up at four in the morning to get to the airport. Newt is teary-eyed every time he looks over at his father. Theseus is still practicing well-polished avoidance, and Graves remembers that he lives here. He likely sees his father all the time. Newt is not so lucky.

Graves thinks about his own father. He feels a defined distance between them, but that’s always been there. He can’t force himself to imagine how he’d react to his death. It’s too unrealistic. Frederick Graves is defiantly alive and likely always will be. Graves has always secretly thought that he’d be the first to go, but he’s past twenty seven now, too late to join the club. He might as well survive.

In the evening, he wanders through the house, lost in thought. Most everyone has gone to bed; he assumes Credence has, too. He gets a glass of water from the kitchen sink and leans back against the countertop. Glancing out the window, he sees a figure sitting on the beach under the heavy gloom of the early evening, sky a painterly grey-blue, the sun not quite set, hidden behind the clouds. 

Graves sets down his glass and pulls on his jacket, walking slowly down the path to the beach. Credence doesn’t look at up, not even as he settles in to sit beside him. The sand is cool through the thin material of his pants. The water rushes slowly up the sand, trickling almost to the rivets where their feet rest, before retreating quickly back to the sea. White bubbles linger around the stones and sticks that litter the shoreline.

It’s Credence’s voice that breaks the stillness, the silence: “Do you think everyone else thinks we’re crazy?”

Graves looks at him, silently willing Credence to look back, but his vision remains cast out over the water, eyes glazed over with thought. With distance. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. The trance breaks and he looks down at the sand, and then over at Graves. “Like, we’re different from everyone else, right? Sometimes I feel like everyone thinks we’re crazy. Like they’re all just waiting for us to explode. Or implode, I guess.”

Graves frowns. Now it’s his turn to shift his gaze away, to stare out over the rocking sea. “I don’t think we’re all that different.”

“Hm.” Credence leans his head on Graves’ shoulder and Graves slips his arm around the boy’s back, pulling him closer, keeping him steady. “Things are different now, though.”

_Different from when?_ He doesn’t ask. He already knows, of course. Things are different — from the day they met, from the day Credence turned twenty. From the nights on tour, making out in hotel beds; from the mornings in their apartment, cuddled up on the couch and resisting the obligations of their day. So wrapped up in each other that there wasn’t room for anything else.

Now it seems that their capacity for _else_ is expanding beyond their control. Letting in the jealousy and the anger and the resentment, feeding on the insecurity and bad blood. 

But when Graves looks at Credence now — his hair tucked behind his ears, loose strands blowing around his face with the slow wind, his thin body wrapped up in his navy windbreaker, his eyes wide and entranced by the movement of the sea, his lips pursed to avoid letting out all the things he doesn’t want to say — he believes, truly believes, that he’s never loved him more.

“Credence,” he says. “I don’t want to ever be without you.”

“I know,” the boy says softly. He turns, squinting at Graves, and then pulls his phone out of his pocket. He unlocks it, directing his focus to the screen as he taps a few icons, still looking vexed whenever he uses the thing. Graves knows he hates it. A moment later, the phone is held up in front of his face. “Who is this?”

It’s him. Him, cheek-to-cheek with the blonde girl from the cafe. _Fleur._ Smiling and sweaty. He swallows hard.

“Just some fan I ran into. She wanted a picture.”

Credence doesn’t look at him; he just scrolls down and reads aloud from the photo’s caption. “ _Mister Percival Graves. I may or may not have turned him straight._ And then there’s a winking face. And… number sign,  _wild morning_.”

“Credence, I swear to God—”

“Who is she?” His voice is so soft and so sad. Graves puts his face in his hands and rubs at his eyes.

“I went for a run and met her in a cafe. I talked with her for like, ten minutes. She wanted a photo. That’s all.”

“Is that when you were ignoring my calls?”

“Credence, fuck, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t do anything. I promise.”

“Why is she saying you did?”

“I don’t know!” Graves’ voice is rising with frustration. What a fucking mistake. He should know better than to talk to anybody ever, apparently.

“Someone commented _isn’t he dating that kid in the band?_ and she said back _he’s getting bored._ Did you say that?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then why did she—”

“ _I don’t know!_ ”

Credence flinches violently when he shouts. Graves pulls himself back, breathing hard, staring wide eyed at the boy, who’s curled into himself in defence. 

“Credence,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry.”

Credence just blinks at him. Unreadable. Graves holds out his arms.

“Please come here. Did I scare you?”

He stares for another moment and then slowly shifts over, letting Graves pull him in and press him to his chest. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay.”

_It’s not,_ Graves wants to tell him, _It’s not okay. None of it is okay. What I’ve done to you, what we’ve done to each other—_

“What’s the happiest you’ve ever been?”

Graves is startled when Credence speaks again. The question floats off in the passing breeze and Graves stares out at the sea. He isn't sure how to answer; it’s not like he keeps an itemized list of happy moments. He finds himself more often lamenting the tragedies and small irritations of everyday life. He thinks for a while, Credence’s gaze still fixed on him. Finally, he says: “Your twentieth birthday. The day you came back to me. I’ve never been that happy before.” Credence looks away, considering. “How about you?”

“The first time you kissed me,” he says immediately. “In the hotel room. I thought, here I am, and everything is so new and so beautiful, and I never thought any of this would happen, and now I’m finally going to get what I want.” He gives Graves a questioning look. “Is that selfish?”

“No.” Graves laughs quietly. “It’s not selfish, Credence. You’re the least selfish person I know. Some people get so accustomed to getting what they want, and so they’ll do anything for it, even if it means hurting other people. That’s selfish. You… you weren’t used to it. You deserve it.”

Credence nods. “Yeah. I guess. But then the next day you were so upset and I was so confused.”

“I just didn’t want to hurt you,” Graves says weakly. “I wasn’t upset with you. I was upset with myself.”

“I know.” 

They fall back into silence.

“What’s the saddest you’ve ever been?”

Graves blows out a breath. “I don’t know. When bad things happen I tend to get angry instead of sad. It’s… protective. I guess I’d say it was when you were gone, and I went to the church and you weren’t there. I talked to Modesty. I got angry pretty quick once your mother came out but when I was talking to Modesty I was just… sad.”

“I didn’t know you went there,” Credence says quietly. “Until Modesty mentioned it.”

“Of course I did. I had to find you.” Graves hesitates. “I feel like you’ve had so much sadness in your life, Credence. It breaks my heart.”

“I was never sad before,” Credence tells him. “At the church. With Ma. It was either pain or it was just nothing. I guess that’s protective.” He repeats the word with Graves’ same intonation and it makes the man smile. “You can’t really be sad when you have nothing happy to compare it to. I know that sounds kinda bleak.”

“I get it, though.”

“I was never sad until I met you,” Credence says softly. “Because now I have the happy to compare it to.” He gives Graves a wry smile. “Do you think it’s good or bad that both of our happiest and saddest times were with each other?”

“I think it’s good,” Graves says firmly. “When you love someone, you want all of them. Not just the good. The bad, too, and the darkness and the sadness. Otherwise it’s just… I don’t know. An idea of love.”

Credence nods, looking back out into the sea.

The evening has grown darker, and everything is cast with a dull blue. Graves watches Credence, his gentle beauty, his quiet and unassuming brilliance. His sweetness, his kindness, his unquestioning loyalty and devotion.

It hurts to look at him. Everything hurts.

“Do you think I’m a bad person?” Credence asks, sounding so sad. “For not calling her.”

He doesn’t have to elaborate. He’d spent weeks wringing his hands after his graduation, pacing back and forth with his phone face-down on the countertop, rattling off the pros and cons of reaching out to his mother.

_Don’t_ , Graves had silently begged, though he didn’t dare say it out loud.

“You’re not a bad person, Credence. Her coming to—”

Credence cuts him off. “I know. It didn’t mean anything.”

“That’s not what I was gonna say.”

“Okay, maybe it meant something, in some really deeply buried part of her, but it was ninety-nine percent her trying to save face at that school. She probably wants to send Modesty there or something. She came to play the part of the supportive and respectable mother.” He shudders out a sigh. “She didn’t have to — I mean, she said…”

“I know.”

“She didn’t have to say that.”

“But she did.”

“She did,” Credence agrees. “And here I am.”

“I’m glad you didn’t call her. One billion kind words couldn’t make up for what she did to you for nineteen years, let alone one sentence.” He tries to soften his tone. “I know it meant a lot to you. But I also know that _you_ know it doesn’t change any of that.”

Credence nods, staring at the slowly blackening sea. “Yeah.”

“She hasn’t called you, either.”

“I know.”

“If you want to—”

“No. I don’t. Besides, I’m —“ Credence takes a breath. “I’m scared. I don’t want to talk to her or see her because I’m scared.”

Graves sighs, squeezing Credence tighter, resting his chin on the boy’s head. “My brave boy. It’s okay to be scared sometimes.”

They sit in silence for a while, until the gloomy dark-blue has settled heavy across the horizon. Until Graves can only see an outline of Credence, sketched in starlight — the tip of his nose, the whites of his eyes.

“What’s going to happen?” Credence asks, and he doesn’t have to specify. He doesn’t have to explain any further.

“I don’t know,” Graves says, and they’re the most honest words he’s ever spoken. “I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there we have it :)
> 
> thank you all for your sweet comments and kudos - they keep me going with this accidental saga of a story. there's more to come, likely very soon. <3


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